


Sugar, Let your hair down

by SkywardGeek



Series: Inspired by [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Clint, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, Child Abuse, Dislike to like to Love, F/M, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Tony Stark, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Project Partners, Protective Natasha Romanov, Reader Warning: potential triggers for physical child abuse and bullying, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 10:52:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 54,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7099900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkywardGeek/pseuds/SkywardGeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>♪ I don't wanna seem unfriendly, but I don't wanna be your friend. I'm in a fantasy, dreaming of a happy ending, but you were my reality and you set in ♪</p><p>Overworked, overwrought, and overachieving; life was never changing. Just a cycle of school, work, sleep, work school again. The same way he's always been. Tony doesn't know any different, doesn't know any better. That is, until a group of ragtag, obnoxious, overbearing misfits take over his life.</p><p>It's got all the ingredients of a teen comedy. Only, things never work out the way they do in the movies. But that's what makes life fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Same Old, Same Old.

 The alarm blared loudly, the owner glaring at it from his desk. He’d already been up for hours. Hadn’t slept actually. Tony grabbed the clock, its chime still ringing shrilly, and launched it across the room. The clock face shattered as it hit the wall, but – as per his luck – the alarm was still going. Tony heaved himself to his feet, hands shaking with fatigue and legs aching with exhaustion. He knelt down in the plastic shards, a few causing minor scratches to his knees, and turned the alarm to silence. Finally. Then he launched the clock through the window. He listened as it rebounded off the trellis arch below, the metal of the clock echoing into the early morning silence as it landed on the stones of the patio. He’d been up for… he’d lost count. Over two days. Designs to start and finish, coding to reconfigure, circuit boards to solder. Everything and anything asked of him. But if his alarm went off (third one he’d broken this month) that meant it was 7am. Time to start the day.

 

 

 

He washed, showered, and changed, before even hearing movement from his parents’ room next door. But he listened carefully, trying to pick out the sound of his father’s feet leaving the bed. He’d already prepared the table and was gently frying bacon when he heard it. The thud, then stomp stomp stomp of his father coming downstairs.

“Leave it boy, that is what Jarvis is for. And he doesn’t burn everything,” growled Howard, voice a croaky rumble.

He reeked of booze and stale sweat. Tony was lucky he didn’t see him last night. They were together in awkward silence. Tony plated up breakfast for them both and sat next to his father. He chewed at a slice of toast absently.

“How are the designs coming?” Howard asked, voice low and full of warning and promise.

Tony smiled in response, this was worth the all-nighters.

“They are complete, triple checked, and sent to your servers. They are in the folder you allocated for my work.”

Tony didn't comment that the rest of the space is sparse, unused and empty.

“Only triple checked? You know that’s not good enough,” Howard chewed on a strip of bacon thoughtfully, “How will I maintain the Stark name if I have to use sub-par work?”

Tony didn't comment, saying nothing is safer when he can feel the trap looming.

“We need this company to last forever, make a difference to the future. We already have a young, strong, brilliant mind working for the company-”

Tony couldn’t help it, his chest puffed up in pride. His father so rarely wasted breath on compliments. The pride and satisfaction in a job excellently done should be enough, as his father reminded him whenever he sought praise. Something he hadn’t done for years.

“-But I won’t be around forever.”

Oh. Of course. He was… No, Tony was wrong to assume. He- no, it’s fine. He’d just have to do better. Find a 25th hour in the day. It would be fine.

“And I need you to step up your game if you plan from taking over from me. I know not everyone has a mind like mine and I appreciate your efforts but it isn’t enough Tony. You aren’t trying hard enough. You aren’t enough.”

A throat was cleared from the doorway. An elderly gentleman, in an impeccable suit, stood waiting by the door. His nose twitched at the smell of bacon, and a small smile made the hairs of his greying moustache bristle.

“I hate to interrupt, but Master Stark you have-“

“School, be right there Jarvis.”

Tony was gone in a flash, and back just as quickly, with a canvas messenger bag swinging from his shoulder. Badges and patches from various bands decorated the bag.

“Bye Dad, see you later tonight.”

“Home by four, no later. You have projects to work on,” Howard said sternly.

 

 

Tony loves school.  Not because he enjoys the lessons and lectures, oh no. He learnt all this when he was five. He enjoys people-watching. Before public school, he knew little about people. Only what he’d been told. They’d hurt you. They aren’t worth the time it takes to say hello. They’d only speak to Tony for his name, his money, his power. But he could still observe them, right? There was no harm in that. He ended up inventing nicknames for them, the ones he frequently observed. Okay, look, he knows it sounds creepy. It’s not like he follows them home. It’s weird, but it’s what he does. He reads people. It’s fun. It’s like knowing them a little. So he sits down, at the back of the class, and works until the bell signalling home room rings. People trickle in, slow and begrudgingly.

There’s the strawberry blonde, who he calls Pepper. Mostly because of her hair, and freckles. But also partly because he saw her pepper-spray a guy who would not take a hint. That guy got what he deserved in Tony’s opinion. Either that, or the guy needed to re-learn basic English. No means no, after all.

Then there was James Rhodes. Rhodey. Tony preferred Rhodey. Less formal. The guy didn’t seem like a James.

A few others wandered in. A pretty blonde, clutching at a binder, wearing a soft looking white and pink hoodie. A sort of awkward boy followed after, fingering the strap that held a camera around his neck. They took their seats two rows in front of Tony. The girl even gave him a small smile before turning back to the other guy. The Spiders.

Ah speaking of spiders. He scanned the room, searching out his favourites. There was the red head Tony liked to call Black Widow. Her face was kept a constant blank but her eyes spoke volumes. Mostly of how she could kill a person six hundred and sixteen different ways using only the contents of her pencil case. And it felt like her shadow could search the room without her moving.

There was the guy Tony liked to call Hawkeye. He had sharp eyes, picking up on details others missed. Everyone else was the field mouse and he was the hawk that could see them from ten storeys up. He was smart too, almost always receiving top marks – that is, when he could be assed to hand in the assignments. Hawkeye. They sat at the back, the Widow closest to the window and her pet bird next to her. He immediately put his feet up on the desk and leaned back in his chair. She smirked at him, only glancing up when two more people entered.

One really tall blond, and a shorter brunet. Okay, these two he did know the name of. The blond was called Thor, perhaps taking his name a little too seriously. He seemed intent on personifying the God of Thunder, declaring Thursdays as his own special day. But he seemed harmless enough. Loud, but harmless.

The brunet was called Bruce. His science bro. His lab partner. The only person in this entire room he was allowed to hold a conversation with.

The teacher finally arrived. Tony couldn’t for the life of him remember the guy’s name. But he was older, a little pot-bellied, receding hairline. He was making announcements, social things Tony ~~wasn’t allowed to attend~~ thought were beneath him. He focussed entirely on the new plans he had to create. All the teachers left him to it. It was an agreement his father made. As long as his son achieves 95% or higher in all exams, he would be allowed to work on anything needed for Stark Industries. What sounded like a thundering drum beat broke him from his thoughts. Two gasping students stood at the threshold of the classroom.

“Sorry we’re late, Mr Selvig,” gasped the blond.

The brunet made a vague agreeing gesture, while still trying to draw breathes. The teacher just smiled at them kindly.

“Take a seat, gentleman. I was just explaining-“

Tony tuned out the teacher’s – Mr Selvig’s! – voice again. He didn’t really have names, real or made-up, for the two newcomers. Nothing particularly stood out. Typical jocks. He didn’t pay them much notice, even as the blond dropped into his seat next to Tony, and the brunet all but fell into the space in front of Tony. They both chatted loudly, obnoxiously even. Tony was first out the door when the bell for next period rang.

 

 

Last period of the day. English with Mr Coulson. Coulson was an awesome teacher. He made sure to account for everyone’s needs. He even offered Tony more advanced reading material. It was brilliant. He also never bothered with boring things like seating plans, since he could keep the class in line with nothing more than a subtle sigh of frustration. Although some students, Tony included, staked their claim over certain spots early on. He always took the space at the back, closest to the door. The obnoxious jockstraps chose today to sit next to him. Mostly because all other seats were taken, but Tony thought they might have just had a personal vendetta against him getting his work done. He continued to write, plugging in headphones and tuning out everything else. He completed the work his father set out for him in five minutes, turning his attention to the class and the task they had to do. Although he felt his eyes drooping. How many hours sleep had he had this week? Nine, maybe nine and a half. Not that it mattered. He completed all the assignments at the beginning of the semester, class was just a formality at this point. A PR stunt. A Stark, the child prodigy, mingling among the commoners. He closed his eyes, promising that it would be for just a moment. He switched off his music, and Coulson’s voice became soothing white noise. Just a moment of peace.

 

 

Steve looked at the guy next to him, nudging Bucky with a grin.

“He’s asleep,” he grinned.

Bucky chuckled, “must be tough, what with all his adoring fans.”

“Mr Rogers, Mr Barnes, if you could both kindly pay attention.”

The class fell into a tense hush. Mr Coulson just asked people to be quiet. Shit was about to go down. Bucky averted his eyes, letting them fall back to his work. Steve, well even when he was 5’4”, he argued for justice. But now as a 6' something he was feisty. As Bucky always put it, he was a punk.

“But sir, Stark isn’t paying attention. It’s unfair he gets special treatment.”

Coulson thought for a second, “You’re right. And that is why I will have you pair up with him for the project I was just about to set you.”

“What?” Steve asked blankly.

“You can show him how to be a model student.”

Bucky snorted a laugh, hastily turning it to a cough when Mr Coulson looked at him.

“And you, Mr Barnes, I think I shall pair you with T’Challa.”

Bucky groaned, while T’Challa looked equally displeased. The rest of the pairs were somewhat usual for the class.

Clint and Natasha because even Coulson didn’t dare separate the two. Gwen Stacey and Peter Parker, because they worked well together. Mousey little Jane Foster with big booming Thor, in the hope that she would calm him and he would get her to speak up. Reed Richards and Susan Storm because she was the only person in the entire class to put up with him. Johnny Storm and Ben Grimm, for the same reason. Carol Danvers and Jessica Drew, those girls were inseparable. Janet Van Dyne and Hank Pym, mostly because if Janet wasn't around Hank would accidentally create a robot that would destroy the world. Darcy Lewis and Bruce Banner, which seemed an odd pairing in everyone’s eyes. Normally Bruce got Tony. Virginia and James. Kamala Khan and Doreen Green because everyone else got annoyed fast by the incessant fangirling. Then there were… the twins. He was their top athlete in track, she was just… weird. Everyone cast Steve sympathetic looks. They all knew the genius was a nightmare to work with. According to the rumours at least.

Steve nudged the guy, a startled grunt signalling he was awake.

“Stark, wake up. We’ve been partnered together for an assignment.”

The dark haired layabout blinked up at him, and yawned, “Just give it to me. I’ll do it. I’m sure you have better things to do.”

Steve stared at him in confusion, “It’s a partner project. I need to do half the work.”

Tony stretched across the desk like a cat, various joints clicking, “No need. I’ll do it. That’s why you chose me as a partner right?”

“I didn’t chose you,” Steve replied vehemently, “Coulson stuck me with you.”

The words seemed to trickle into his mind slowly, “so you actually want to do half the work?”

He frowned up at Steve like he was a particularly difficult maths equation. Except he could solve maths equations. Steve didn’t know why he was causing so much confusion.

“It’s only right.”

Tony yawned widely again, rubbing at his eyes before shrugging, “Whatever. But I need at least a 95, so if you suck I’m doing it all,” he sat up and copied down the project title.

“I’m not taking credit for work I didn’t do.”

Tony raised his eyebrows at him, “does it matter? I do the work, we both get A’s. That’s what matters.”

“It’s not honest.”

Tony shrugged, twiddling the pen between his fingers, “but it’s the truth. People don’t care about honesty. They want results. They want legacy. You need to learn that fast whatever-your-name-is.”

“Steve, you should at least know your classmates’ names.”

“Whatever, I need to speak to Coulson,” and just like that Tony got up and left.

Steve looked to Bucky, who tried grinning at him. Only it looked more like he’d been stabbed in the gut.

“I would offer to trade, except I think I got the better deal.”


	2. Friend or Foe

Working with the jockstrap was slow at best and annoying at worst. They’d clash over the most pointless things, things Tony didn’t care about but couldn’t stop arguing over.

“Why can’t we use comic sans?”

Okay, this one he did care about.

“Are you IT illiterate? We can’t use comic sans. It looks stupid.”

“Fine,” Steve declared, slamming his book on the library desk, “what do you suggest?”

“Times New Roman, size twelve, it’s standard.”

But of course, Steve turned his nose up at that, “but that’s so… boring.”

Tony sighed, rubbing at his forehead. He didn’t have the energy for this. Ignoring the no food or drink in the library rule, he cracked open a can of Monster. He took a sip before trying to make his point. Again. For the sixth time, “this is English, not art. We have to write about the theme of death in various genres. Not fucking draw it. We are not writing in Comic Sans. End of.”

“Fine,” Steve huffed, slumping in his chair, “what books do you want to cover?”

“Well, what have you read?”

“The usual.”

“You aren’t making this easy.”

“Well you’re the boy genius.”

“And there it is,” Tony slammed his palms down on the desk, “is that the problem you have with me? Ooh no, I’m clever-“

“No, my problem is you are an entitled, spoilt brat, who has never had to work for a thing in his life. Hand fed with the silver spoon, walking over others to get what you want. You don’t just lack common decency, you lack human decency.”

Tony smiled coldly at him, “you are basing this off, what, a few rumours that get passed around like Chinese whispers? Do you know a damn thing about me that you didn’t hear from gossips or read in tabloids? Do you know a single thing about my life?”

“Only that you are living up to my expectations,” Steve sneered, eyes glinting with barely restrained rage.

These arguments had been happening every lunchtime for a week. They hadn’t gotten any work done. Now Tony was behind in the plans his father laid out, falling behind in the business outlines Obadiah demanded of him. He didn’t have this time to waste, “Y’know what-“

The Darth Vader theme played loudly, interrupting him midsentence. It was the ringtone he set for his dad. “I have to take this.” He stood and walked to a more secluded area of the library, just out of Steve’s earshot. He was gesturing wildly, clearly annoyed at the other participant of the conversation. By the time he returned he was no longer flushed red in anger. Now, much to Steve’s reluctant concern, he was near ghostly white. But he sat himself down calmly, and began tapping out a plan on his laptop.

“I think we should address the three brothers within Harry Potter for Fantasy, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein for Horror, The Fault In Our Stars for Young Adult. Anything else you can thing of?”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Tony snapped, “can we just get on with this?"

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

 

 

“God I hate that guy,” Steve moaned, leaning over the edge of his bed to look at Bucky who was lying across his bedroom floor.

“You’ve said,” Buck replied, voice utterly bored.

“He’s just so annoying, you know?”

“Uh-huh.”

Natasha didn’t even make it look like she was paying attention, sitting on his window ledge. She was reading a book for class, handing it to Clint at certain points.

“Blergh, I’ve read better smut online. For free. By Virgins!”

“I know,” Natasha looked at the book’s dark cover in disgust, “who describes a butthole as a chocolate starfish? I think I just went off chocolate forever."

“We can’t write about the themes of romance in this! It’s straight up abuse.”

“Agreed,” Natasha took the book back from him and flung it out the window. A cry of “shit goes in the toilet, not in books” was heard but no one paid it any mind.

“I mean he’s just so stubborn. He’s such a pain.”

“We know,” Clint sighed, rummaging through the books Darcy and Jane loaned him and Nat, “Stubborn, obnoxious, pain in the ass, completely obsessed with him, we get it okay.”

“I am not obsessed with him!” Steve almost shouted.

“Prove it,” Natasha challenged, “don’t talk about him for half an hour.”

Steve stubbornly remained silent for those thirty minutes, flicking through the highlighted passages Tony picked out. Okay, Steve had to admit that Tony knew his stuff. Each quote perfectly accentuated the theme of death. Maybe he wasn’t as lazy as Steve assumed. Especially if he had the time to find, read, highlight, and send on all these copies of the books to Steve. Although the pompous brat set Steve homework. He had to find a genre involving death. It seemed Tony really didn’t think much of him if that’s all he thought him capable of.

“But you know, the thing is-“

“Oh my god Steve,” Clint exclaimed, frustration reaching its peak, “you are working with a genius who would have been happy to do all the work himself. If you have that much of an issue with him, just do that.”

“I can’t-“

“Then shut up,” Natasha said softly. And when Natasha spoke softly, every instinct in your body told you to run, “you’ve been whining about him for near two hours. We were happy to listen for maybe ten minutes, let you vent. But this is obsessive. You have a problem, speak to him.”

Her tone meant not another word would be spoken on the topic of pain-in-the-ass geniuses.

Bucky rolled onto his stomach, flicking through his comic book. He hadn’t started on the project at all, mostly because T’Challa scared him.

“You need to do _something_ ,” Steve scolded him.

“I am, I’m readin’ comics. Besides he’s real intense.”

Natasha rolled her eyes so hard, Steve was worried they’d get stuck that way. “What is it with my boys and their lack of communication skills?”

 

 

He wasn’t obsessed. He knew that much. He just found Tony… Annoying. Distracting. It was irritating. He was smart, fast talking, gorgeous. Steve paused in his train of thought. Okay, maybe not that last one. Except, objectively speaking, Steve could see why Tony got the attention he did. Dark brown hair that looked gossamer soft. Brown eyes that lit golden in the sunlight, melting away to an eclipse at the centre. Long, slender fingers that moved with an elegance that juxtaposed the man’s very essence. Objectively speaking, of course. He met Tony in the library the next day. The arrogant genius was late, fifteen minutes past their arranged meet-up time, clutching at a Starbucks like it contained the meaning of life.

“You’re late.”

“Sorry,” Tony mumbled, one arm wrapped around himself as he sat down. He looked worse for wear, Steve noted. Those golden eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot, dark bags forming underneath them. His hands were shaking, and he was breathing stiffly through his nose,

“Do you want to do this later? Y’know, take a break.”

Tony’s head shot up, eyes darting to Steve’s and away from the book he’d been reading for the tenth time, “a break?” he repeated cautiously, “but we have work to do. And I just got here.”

Steve nodded, “yeah, well, the weather’s nice and,” his words began falling a little flat, “I don’t know. We could just take it all outside and relax a little.”

Tony cocked his head to the side, narrowing his eyes slightly. He licked his lips and cleared his throat. Coughed. Glanced at the book then back to Steve, “you want me to take a break?”

He really couldn’t understand why this was such a big thing. He watched as Tony shifted awkwardly, no, nervously, in his chair, “if you want to.”

Tony started to move, but glanced at his phone lying on the table, “no, no. I’d better not. I, no, you can go ahead without me.”

Steve shrugged and left Tony to work.

 

 

He sat outside, enjoying his first free lunch period in a week and a half. He breathed in a lungful of air, finally feeling free of the stuffy feeling of books. He lounged on the grass, feeling the warm sun on his face. That is, until someone blocked it out.

“Rogers,” whoever it was spoke imperiously.

He opened his eyes, blinking in the sudden light, “Hammer,” he nodded, “Stone,” he went to close his eyes again.

“I see you are spending a lot of time around that Stark kid.”

“Uh-huh,” Steve nodded, glaring at the two with one eye.

They somehow looked the same but different. Stupidly spiked up blond hair, glasses with a rectangular frame, skinny, but toned, like they spent a lot of time trying to work on their bodies. The only difference was Tiberius was head and shoulders taller than Hammer.

“You sure you want to hang out with that kid?” They tried crowding him; Steve wasn’t having it. He stood up and looked Tiberius in the eye,

“I have a class project with him, and I will be hanging out with him. Any problems?”

Steve cracked his knuckles, glaring at Tiberius. He knew Hammer was no threat. What was the phrase? All bark and no bite. But Tiberius. He just stared on threateningly.

They both shook their heads, Tiberius with a small smile, “No problem whatsoever.”

 

 

Steve felt uneasy. He didn’t like Tiberius, didn’t trust him. He wandered back to the library, finding Tony surrounded by towering books. Not one of them was related to their English assignment. Steve looked over his shoulder, seeing what looked like intricate diagrams for a gun.

“That’s cool. Did you copy that from a book?”

Tony startled at Steve’s voice, then glaring at him for the words. He took a deep breath and pushed the diagrams away, “back from your break?”

“Yeah, you should have taken one.”

“I… did.” Tony gestured to the diagrams surrounding him, several rolled up and held by elastic bands.

“Do you ever stop working?” Steve asked in awe.

Tony shook his head with a pained smile, “I thought I never had to work a day in my life?” he asked with quirked eyebrows.

Steve laughed nervously. “Maybe I misjudged. Maybe,” he rubbed the back of his neck, entire body language screaming tense and uncomfortable. Tony had no sympathy for him. Steve sat opposite and pulled a book forward, “what is all this though?”

“Oh you know,” Tony yawned, “that one’s aeronautical engineering.” At Steve’s blank look, Tony elaborated, “Focuses on the physics and creation of machines designed for flight and sea-faring. Basically planes and ships. That one there,” he pointed to a book to the left of Steve’s elbow, “is mechanical engineering. So machines. That one there,” he indicated to a large red hard book balancing precariously on a stack of other books, “is civil engineering. That means like bridges and stuff. And I’ve got Electrical here,” he indicated to the blue covered book he was holding.

Steve watched as Tony worked, Tony occasionally asking his opinion on the look of certain designs. In all honesty, Tony talked none stop, more to himself that anyone else.

“No, no, this won’t do at all.”

And before Steve could stop him, he ripped the blueprints cleanly in half, then in half again.

“Stop! What are you doing? They were fine!”

“Fine isn’t good enough,” Tony growled, looking a little demented, “he won’t accept fine,” Tony curled his hands into his hair, a low frustrated rumble sounding in his chest. He sounded like a cat about to pounce on pray, only to have its hunt fly to safety, “It’s not good enough, not good enough, fucking worthless,” Tony kept muttering, reaching to tear another sheet of paper in half.

Steve grabbed it from his hands, folding it and laying it back from the table. Tony shoved the books off the desk, seemingly getting satisfaction from the destruction he was leaving. Steve grabbed his arms, pinning them to his sides.

“Stop, just stop.”

From this distance, he could see something was wrong. Very wrong. There was a sharp flush to Tony’s cheeks, but the rest of him was pale. His skin was glowing from a thin sheen of sweat. And just looking at Tony made him feel tired. But before he could say a word the bell for next period rang. Tony shoved his books and papers into his bag.

“Sorry, sorry you had to see that,” Tony avoided his eyes and walked out to his next class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Cerrei, Ebbatheunicorn and SpikedPoppies for the kind words and for everyone who left kudos on this fic. I wrote this one more for fun than anything and wasn't certain if I'd continue it. But I think I will now :) Thank you all so so so much!


	3. Tennis Rackets and Panic Attacks

Gym. He hated Gym. Especially today. He was so damn tired. He poured out a can of Monster into a plastic bottle, adding two energy shots before taking a sip. Still not enough. He swallowed two more caffeine pills before chugging as much of the energy drink mixture as he could. He felt sick but hyped. Buzzing but nauseous. He approached the locker room, quickly getting changed before anyone else arrived. Everyone was always late to the period after lunch, dragging their feet to make the break last longer. The Gym Teacher, Coach Phillips, told him they would be outside on the tennis courts. He waited there, shivering. Someone approached from behind slapping him on the back.

“Sup Stark, you cold?” Hawkeye asked, slinging an arm around the genius.

“I’m fine.”

The Black Widow approached next, somehow still looking deadly in gym shorts and a white polo top, “Tennis, you and Clint versus me and Darcy.”

She didn’t pose it as a question so the two men followed her. Taser-girl - he'd seen her Taser the shit out of Thor once, no idea why - bounded up to them, her hair bouncing in its pigtails. She took Tony’s hand and dragged him onto the court.

“C’mon, let’s go and play.”

 

 

The match was quick, intense, and still ongoing. Tony eventually called it quits and flumped onto the grass verge at the edge of the court. He was sweating profusely, and it felt like the sky was spinning.

Taser-girl – Darcy – dropped down next to him, “tiring huh? I can’t keep up with them.”

Tony nodded, at least until the motion made him dizzy, “Yeah, tiring. How do you know each other? Like, you don’t seem like the type to hang out with each other?”

Darcy laughed, “yeah, I guess we are all a bit out there. I met Clint in Elementary School. I helped him pull a prank on the teacher. A few years later, Natasha turned up at our middle school in the middle of the year, completely out of the blue. I don’t even think the teachers knew she was coming.”

Tony drew his knees to his chest, resting his chin on them, watching the red-head and the sandy blond play like their lives depended on it. He could hear the whistle of their rackets swinging from where he was, several yards away.

“We’re still friends, right?” Black Widow grinned at her competitor across the net.

Hawkeye returned the smile, throwing the ball high in the air for his serve, “depends if you beat me.”

Tony watched them for a while. “Must be nice,” he said absently, watching the two players’ trash talk each other from across the court.

Darcy smiled at him, tilting her head slightly, “what must be?” she asked curiously, turning her whole body to look directly at him.

“To be that close to someone,” he said wistfully.

Darcy shrugged, “well they’re dating. Kinda the point.”

“They’re dating?” Tony frowned.

“Well, yeah,” Darcy replied, “where have you been? They’ve been dating since, oh when was it? Sophomore year. But what about you? From what I hear you have a very successful love life.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him, grinning brightly.

He ducked his head. He’d never dated. He’d had Dates, people who he took to Galas and Benefits, but never dated.

“So how are things with Christine?”

“Who?”

Darcy paused for a moment, “you know, Christine,” Tony continued to look on in confusion, “Christine Everhart.” Still he gave her a look proving he didn’t understand, “Your Girlfriend!”

“I’ve never had a girlfriend,” he said quickly.

Darcy just stared at him for a solid minute - Tony even counted the seconds - before bursting into peals of laughter, slapping Tony repeatedly on the arm. He flinched at every wave of her hand.

“You have got to be kidding me. But she said- oh of course she said. Knew she was lying. But you’ve never- oh of course you haven’t,” She giggled gleefully.

Tony watched her curiously. She was weird, good weird, but still weird. Why did she get so much joy from this information? He couldn't fathom. Hawkeye and Black Widow both dropped next to them, the spider next to Darcy and the bird next to Tony. Clint lay down on the grass, a few stray strands sticking to the sweat on his neck. Natasha looked exactly the same as she did when she walked out the changing room earlier.

“So, who won?”

“Me,” Clint said, raising his hand and closing his eyes.

Natasha shook her head with a smirk. Darcy and Tony knew who they believed. They chatted for a while, Tony mostly just listening in.

“And then Sam, you’ll never guess, he knocked him out. One hit KO. I wish I had a camera,” Darcy giggled, rolling on the grass laughing.

Tony smiled along with her story, even if he had no idea who Sam was. He was a little more focussed on the fact that Natasha hadn’t stopped staring at him. It was sort of creepy. That unreadable gaze.

“You four should be playing Tennis.” The coach was staring down at them, arms crossed and looking stern.

“But Coach,” Darcy whined, “we’re so tired.”

“Up, Lewis, now.”

Darcy and Tony began climbing to their feet, slow and unenthusiastically. Natasha just kept watching Tony as he staggered to his feet. Clint, well Clint thought he had a great idea.

“Fuck that,” he said, not even caring enough to open his eyes. He raised both hands, giving the middle finger to the coach.

“That’s it,” the Coach ground out, “detention. The four of you. After School.”

 

 

He was scared. Terrified even. The tightness in his chest chased him to last period. He couldn’t breathe, why couldn’t he breathe? There was oxygen, he had functional lungs, why couldn’t he breathe? People breezed past him, all there chatter sounding far away. They were on the other end of a phone, a phone with bad connection. Someone sat next to him, waving a hand in front of his eyes. A blurry hand. Very blurry. Someone reached to cup the side of his face. He couldn’t help it, what he did next. They were too close, moving too fast. It was too loud, too crowded. He flinched away from gentle hands, unable to see who they belonged to. He could feel the hot, hateful stares of so many eyes, catch the flash of the odd camera. He needed out. He shoved roughly away from his desk, chair tumbling and falling to the ground behind him.

“Mr Stark, sit down,” demanded whatever Teacher it was now.

“But Miss, he needs to see the nurse,” a girl protested.

“He is fine, now get back to work.”

“Miss Hansen,” the girl continued.

“No, get back to your seat. I won’t be interrupted again, Mary-Jane.”

Not one word of that conversation filtered in. All he seemed to be able to focus on was that he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe. Suddenly he was yanked to his feet, one hand gently wrapped around his upper arm. She was guiding him somewhere, the colours all blurring. All he could understand was that he was being taken from the classroom.

“Miss Watson, get back here.”

The red haired girl poked her tongue out and continued walking. She walked them to a quiet area, behind the school canteen. Usually it was where all the smokers hung out. Now it was blissfully empty. Mary-Jane leaned him against the wall, where he sunk down. There were cigarette butts everywhere, and the floor was covered in used chewing gum. Mary-Jane knelt down in front of him, but never crowded him. She rested the back of her hand on his forehead, projecting all her movements.

“C’mon, I know a clever guy like you knows how to breathe.”

“I’m not, I can’t, I,” Tony wheezed, unable to string a solid thought.

The girl just sat down on the filthy ground next to him, “I don’t think we’ve ever spoken properly. Mary-Jane, or Em-Jay. Want me to talk? You can just listen.”

Tony nodded.

“Okay, I moved here when I was twelve. I love acting, and I’m auditioning for Juliet in next year’s play. I have a sister, she gets panic attacks too.” Panic attack, so that’s what this was. “I am starting an all-girl band. I sing. My friend, Gwen, plays drums. What else? My family moved a lot.”

MJ chatted away happily, Tony slowly and painfully coming back from the brink of panic. After a while she smiled at him, tucking a lock of bright red hair behind her ear, “you seem better. How are you feeling?"

“Tired,” he smiled wanly, climbing shakily to his feet.

She stood with him, near enough to offer an arm if he needed it and yet not so close to make him feel like he couldn’t handle this on his own.

“First attack?” She asked, looking at him curiously.

“First time I’ve had a name for it.”

“Oh,” she breathed, “how did you cope before then?”

He thought for a moment. He didn’t know. So he shrugged. But she smiled back at him.

“Lesson’s almost over, let’s grab our things and find out how long I’ll be in detention for.”

 

 

The class was working in silence, focussed on some task written on the whiteboard. Tony didn’t care. He just wanted to grab his things, get detention over with, and go home. They both crept in as quietly as they could, while Ms Hansen’s back was to them.

“Miss Watson, please could you kindly walk down to the Principal’s office to explain your actions.”

“Busted,” she whispered to Tony out the corner of her mouth, she then put on a sickly sappy southern belle voice, “why of course Ms Hansen, I would love to,” she dropped the voice and turned to the class, “Peace out,” she threw the peace symbol in the air, grinning widely, “Take it easy, yeah?”

But she was gone before Tony could give an answer.

“And Mr Stark, for the disruption you will be required to attend detention after school. One hour.”

He nodded, words lost to him all over again. The panic attack was waiting just on the edge of his mind, a cruel whisper in his ear. He settled into his seat and completed all the work Miss Hansen had set. Handed it back to her without a word. Worked on his father’s requested designs. Waited for the bell to ring. It felt like he was on autopilot, a robot with a set of commands coded in. But the bell finally rang and he trudged off to detention.

 

 

The classroom was one of the larger ones, the desks rising as you got further back. People were spread out sporadically. Some were reading, some doing homework, and some were pulling faces at each other. The teacher – for lack of a better word – guarding them didn’t seem to care what they did, as long as they didn’t make noise. He was marking papers, a cup of coffee steaming on his desk. Tony’d never had detention before. He didn’t really know what to do. Do they take attendance? They must do. Was he allowed to listen to music? Other people were but were _they_ allowed to? Everyone was here for misbehaviour after all. He approached the teacher and cleared his throat a little.

“Urm, sir. I’m Tony-“

“Stark, I know. Grab a seat and get some work done. Absolute silence. You can leave in one hour. Actually wait, I’ve got two pink slips for you. Coach Phillips and Ms Hansen. Two hours.”

Tony nodded and glanced around. He had no idea what to do next. Find a seat he supposed. He looked along the back row, catching sight of people he knew. Luckily they saw him too.

“Hey Tony, come sit with us,” Darcy waved him over happily. Clint was with her, Natasha on his other side. Next to Natasha there was the obnoxious jock who came in brunet, then there was the blond version next to him. Steve? Steve. What we’re they doing here? He must have given them an odd look because the brunet - James, if he remembered role call correctly - shrugged and glared at Steve.

"This punk had to fight Flash," James muttered as explanation.

"Hey! That's not fair. Flash is a bully! No one asked you to join in!" Steve objected, rather loudly in the still room.

People turned to look at them, Tony sinking in his seat as they did.

"And let you get beaten up on your own, no way," Bucky scoffed.

"I was _fine,"_ Steve sounded like he knew he was fighting a losing battle.

"There was six of them," Natasha commented calmly, sipping her tea. Where had she gotten tea? It was in a china teacup and everything.

It was odd, listening to them argue in hushed voices. They never sounded malicious. Didn't ever seem to attack each other, never put each other down. There were no raised voices. Tony was hesitant to say they were fighting at all. It was odd. He sunk lower still, tucking his body into himself. He pulled out his phone and tablet – both of his own creation – and set to work on yet more blueprints. His fervour meant he missed the pointed look Steve gave Bucky, and the concerned look Clint shot at Natasha. Darcy just plugged in her headphones and shoved one earbud into Tony's ear. He jumped violently, shoving himself away from her and elbowing Clint in the process.

"Easy man, calm down," Clint shot another look at Natasha, "I know Darcy's taste in music sucks-"

"Hey! Rude!"

"-But give Taylor Swift a chance. She's not all bad."

Tony's eyebrows shot up to meet his hairline, "you like Taylor Swift?"

Clint smirked challengingly, "yup, what ya gunna do 'bout it?"

Tony shrunk further in on himself, shying away from Clint, "nothing," he mumbled, voice lost under the buzz of everyone around them.

Natasha tapped Clint's leg under the table to get his attention, "Coffee later?" Her voice was laced with intention that no one else ever seemed to pick up on. Clint so often shouted at people who called his partner emotionless. And that tone of hers meant they needed to plan. He nodded and soon they all fell silent, using detention to catch up on homework. Not like they could really do anything else.

 

 

The hour trickled by slowly, Natasha watching the clock just above the teacher's desk. And the minute their hour was up, Steve, Bucky, Darcy, Clint, and Natasha all surged to their feet. Darcy looked at Tony; he hadn't even registered their movement.

"Aren't you coming?" She asked, tapping at his tablet to gain his attention.

He 'tsked' quietly before muttering softly, "still have another hour. Have to work or..." He let his voice trail off, focussing again on his tablet, correcting whatever Darcy had changed by touching it.

"Oh no, why?"

"I messed up."

"Which teacher do I need to get?" Darcy teased, punching her right hand into the palm of her left, fingers curling around her closed fist.

Tony's eyes shot up at the sound of her mock punch. "No one. Nothing. My fault. Don't worry."

With that Darcy shrugged and began making her way down and out of the classroom, catching up with the others. "He's always alone, did you know?" She asked the group.

Natasha and Clint both nodded, whereas Steve and Bucky shook their heads. They walked in silence for a few paces, stopping off at Clint's locker to grab his archery gear, and Natasha's for her gymnastics kit.

"Doesn't he have friends?" Steve pondered aloud, looking at Bucky with a touch of gratefulness.

Without him, Steve wasn't sure what he'd do. He was the person who helped him keep a level head when he could, and stopped him being (too badly) beaten up when he couldn't. They'd known each other for as long as Steve could remember.

"Not that I've ever seen," Clint answered, "and I'm in most of his classes. He doesn't really talk to anyone, 'cept that Banner kid."

"My English partner?" Darcy piped up, "maybe I could see what he thinks of him..."

Natasha stopped suddenly, pausing as she let her thoughts run, "If he has no friends, if he never talks to anyone, how do all the rumours about him start? How can he be so terrible to work with if he doesn't work with anyone?"

They fell into silence again, walking slowly to the parking lot. They all hopped into Clint's car, the usual routine of being dropped home before Clint and Natasha went to their sports clubs.

 

 

"So, how do you think rumours get started?" Steve asked, lying across Bucky's bed as Bucky hunched over a desk.

"The way rumours always get started," Bucky griped, "someone gets jealous, makes up something that could be true, and everyone buys into it because realistically they're jealous too. Or it's done out of plain spite to make someone's life miserable. But I don't know who started the rumours about your partner."

"He's not my boyfriend," Steve groaned, burying his face in Bucky's pillow.

Bucky turned on his swivel chair, grinning at Steve, "I never once said he was. I said partner. He's your English partner. You assumed boyfriend, not me."

Steve looked up slightly, glaring over the pillow at his best friend, "I hate you."

"But you love that Stark guy," Bucky laughed at him.

"No, I definitely don't. He's annoying, a pain in my ass, wouldn't let me use comic sans-"

"I don't blame him, comic sans is stupid as fuck."

Steve rolled his eyes, but continued his rant, "he is so rude and just obnoxious as anything."

Bucky stopped what he as doing and turned to face Steve head on, "and how much of this did you base on rumours before you met him? I mean no judgement, I thought he was an asshole before I met him but he's just... twitchy."

"Twitchy?"

"Twitchy," Bucky confirmed with a nod, "he flinches at everything."

Now Steve thought about it, Tony really did flinch at everything. If Steve reached across the table Tony would pull away from his hand. If Steve leant over his shoulder to read a book passage Tony was showing him Tony would hunch up and curl in on himself a little. If he needed to take a phone call, as he so often did, he kept apologising over and over until Steve told him to shut it. He was rather twitchy.


	4. Father Knows Best

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for commenting and your support, it means so so much :)
> 
> Starkanium - I've changed the spacing, let me know how this formatting works out (if all's good I will change the previous chapters and keep uploading like this), thank you for your feedback :D

He knows what's about to happen. He can smell it in the scotch scented air. Hear it in the stumbling heavy foot falls. But mostly he feels it. In a sharp slap to his cheek.

"Useless boy," Howard growled, this time punching closed fist across his jaw. The hit sends him falling backwards against the door. His back slams into the door knob, sending pain sparking through his back. Pain enough to make his eyes water.

"Crying won't get you anywhere," Howard shoves him back again into the door, an arm crossing across Tony's throat, "do you intentionally try to humiliate me, boy?"

Silence is safer; he doesn't answer.

"You were late with all your plans today, and I received a call from the Principal. Swearing at a teacher? Storming out of class? Pathetic, boy. You aren't worth my name."

The rest of the words became a bit of a blur after that. He's shoved again against the door, jarring his right arm. He can feel the pain in the tips of his fingers. Another slap sends him to the ground, he head bouncing off the mahogany parquet. Howard's foot presses on his stomach, like a hunter claiming his prize. This is it – he thinks and not for the first time – this is the end. He wasn't good enough. He wasn't ever enough. The pressure moved from his stomach, and onto his ribs. He's pretty sure it's psychosomatic but he can hear cracking. A hand, calloused and cold, skin rough and scratchy on his own, grips him around the throat.

"On your feet, boy."

Then he's tugged up, oxygen cut off until he's on his feet. This is where he plants himself like a tree, refuses to move until he's been dismissed.

"You are grounded. No leaving the house until all the work I set you is complete."

He regrets the words as soon as they are out of his mouth, "but what about school?"

"No school," Howard regards him coldly, silently daring him to say another word.

He doesn't, except for a quiet "Understood, sir."

His father doesn't dismiss him, doesn't say a word again. He turned and heads into the drawing room, presumably to drink another tumbler or six of scotch. Tony remains still, listening as he hears ice being scooped into a glass and the soft glug of expensive liquor being poured. Only when he hears the sound of the bottle being put back and a groan of delight, which he knows means Howard's sat down, does he bolt.

 

 

He runs up the stairs so quickly he feels like he's flying. Runs and keeps running. The mansion is big enough, empty enough that it lets him feel this slight amount of freedom. That is until he sees his mother. She's perched delicately on one of the antique end tables, the weird marble sculpture pushed aside. Her face was blank and emotionless and pale. Her dark brown hair is swept into an elegant do, a gorgeous lacy green cocktail dress clings to her. But she's hunched over herself, hand pressing her stomach flatter, the other trying to pull the dress to be longer.

"You shouldn't aggravate him so. You know what he's like when he's had a few drinks."

He wants to argue. He wants to say that normal families don't hurt each other. But he can't say that with certainty. He doesn't know normal. Maybe this _is_ normal. He wants to say so much. Until he actually looks at his mom. The words die. She has a new bruise on her arm, dark and deep purple. It wasn't there this morning. She's wearing such heavy make-up, tactfully done that you wouldn't realise unless you were looking for the tell-tale signs. And Tony could spot them all. Her skin is so pale, rather than her lovely olive tone. The freckles that pepper her cheeks and nose are invisible. Then there is the way she was acting. The fact her leg would not stop bouncing up and down, up and down. Or that the hand resting on her stomach was clenched into the dress, knuckles white. Or that she couldn't meet his eyes, her own focused on a spot just over his shoulder. It was that vacant stare that always left him feeling cold. He knew what happened. Howard took the call, found out about what he did, and his mother was the closest he could get to Tony right then and there.

"I'm sorry mom."

She plastered on a pressed smile, dainty and delicate, and so very much like the wallflower she pretended to be. "For what, Tesoro?"

He hugged her, hiding his face against her neck so she wouldn't see him cry. He hated what he was doing, all because he wasn't good enough for this family. He had to be better.

"I know, mia piccolo genio, I know," she stroked his head, brushing his hair with long slender fingers, "hush now, before your father hears."

Tony nodded and let go of his mom, leaving her to head downstairs and usher his father off to some charity function. He crept further down the hallway and into his room. He locked the door tightly, and turned to the mess that was his desk. He picked up his laptop and chucked it on his unmade bed before sweeping everything off the desk. Well, he better mentally prepare himself for a few all-nighters.

 

 

"See, this is what I mean!" Steve exclaimed to an unimpressed Natasha.

She was trying to teach Bucky Russian but was becoming more and more irked by the rambling annoyance that was Steve. Bucky gave her an apologetic shrug, and at her nod they both turned to Steve.

"What happened _now_?" Bucky asked.

"He never showed. Two days in a row. No reason or anything. Now I have to work on the entire project by myself. And it's due in a week."

Natasha pulled out a magazine, boredom in every part of her features. They both had this tirade yesterday, and were frankly sick of listening to Steve complain about Tony.

"Darcy likes him," Bucky cut in, interrupting Steve midsentence, "Clint too."

"So?"

"Well they are our friends. Don't you want to try and figure out why?" Natasha asked, eyes flicking up then back to her magazine.

"I mean sure but-"

"Aha," Natasha cried out triumphantly before thrusting the magazine under Steve's nose. He took hold of it and read.

 _A_ _ctive philanthropist, Maria Stark, unveils new plans for a homeless shelter. Maria Stark was heavily involved in the fund-raising, setting up auctions with highly values antiques straight from the Stark mansion. "_

_It's a passion of mine," Maria smiles at the crowd, "My husband and I did not come from money so we know what it is like to struggle."_

_Dressed to the nines, most would not believe that the oh-so-chic Maria Stark was a green grocer's daughter. "_

_I was lucky," she told Vanity Fair, "I had the opportunity that so many others don't. This effort is designed to provide opportunities where it can. With the help of my husband and son, both of whom who played a direct role in the design of the building and its facilities, we aim to help solve the homeless crisis across New York. If successful, I have every intention of expanding to other cities and towns all across America."_

_Her ambition is a sight to see, as is the woman herself, showing off her curves in a risqué emerald lace dress. She attributes her success to her family and their constant support. Howard Stark (pictured left), Founder and CEO of Stark Industries, and Anthony Stark, who was unfortunately unable to join the festivities._

_"_ _He's fallen ill," Maria lamented, "but he's seen a doctor and is on the mend."_

_Our thoughts go out to the youngest Stark and we all hope he gets well soon._

"So he's ill? He should have told me."

"How?" Natasha asked, slight quirk to her lips as she held back a barely there smile.

Steve huffed out an annoyed breath and brushed a hand back through his hair, "I don't know, texted me at least."

"He has your number?" Bucky asked in surprise.

Steve paused for a moment, hand lowering back to his side slowly, "well no but-"

"You have his?" Natasha asked, cocking her head to the side and eyeing Steve up and down.

"No," Steve replied sheepishly.

Bucky laughed, a short bark of humour, "then how is he supposed to tell you, punk?"

"Jerk," Steve muttered under breath.

Natasha flicked out her phone, jabbering away in a language neither of them recognised.

"That's not Russian," Bucky observed.

She spared him a look of 'are you kidding?' Before resuming the conversation. A few more words they didn't understand and she reached for a pen and Steve's hand. She scrawled some numbers messily across his palm before capping the pen.

"Tak, rozumiem. Dziękuję Ci," she said before hanging up the phone with a high pitched beep, "try calling that number," she said turning to Steve, "Duch says that should be his PA's number. Couldn't get his direct number. Stark's firewalls are near impossible so it might just redirect you. Howard must be really concerned with his son's safety," she mused, "Duch tried to break past the firewall but kept being redirected. Couldn't track the phone's location. Like typing on a brick wall," she sighed softly, running a hand through her hair, "I wonder what it's like for him, having all that pressure on him?"

Steve scoffed, "come on, pressure? He's a billionaire, what does he have to worry about?"

 

 

He wasn't entirely certain what day it was. A weekend maybe. It couldn't have been that long. But he managed to get all the work done and then some. He missed out on the charity function. Which was a shame, he had really wanted to go. His mother was so proud of it. Until they came home. The shouting was horrible. Howard called her all sorts of names.

"People will think you're a whore."

"Have you considered losing a few pounds?"

" _Your_ shelter? Who did all the work?"

That was... yesterday. Maybe. Hammering at his door drew him away from his thoughts. Rushing to his feet, stumbling over a pile of unclean clothes, he wrenched the door open. A clearly drunk Howard was wavering in front of him, supporting himself against the doorframe.

"y'think thiz is goo'enough?" He asked, slurring around a tumbler of whiskey.

Tony nodded slowly, not trusting the words to leave his swollen throat without sounding croaky. The tablet in his father's hand was shoved against his chest with enough force to push him back down into his desk chair.

"No' good enough," Howard walked into the room, long sweeping strides.

He kept his balance remarkably well, especially if he was slurring. That always meant he had a lot to drink. A whole lot. Howard kicked the bot Tony was making whenever he had a free second. The arm wobbled precariously, not yet attached, "Dumb design. Useless," he gave another sharp kick with his foot, the arm of the robot detaching completely. It fell in the silence, landing with a heavy thud that seemed to shake the room. And like that Howard left.

Tony crouched down next to his half-finished, now destroyed creation. His fingers lay on the riveting, slowly moving up to body to the joint where the arm had been waiting to be welded on. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the metal casing, some tune he half-remembered from years ago.

"You were dumb," Tony muttered, still petting the broken bot, "but you were my dumb thing. My Dummy," he sighed and climbed to his feet.

Work to do, after all.

 

 

It took until Sunday for Steve to even think about calling.

"It's ringing," Steve hissed at the others in warning to get them to shut up.

Darcy was biting her lip to supress a grin, smacking Bucky repeatedly on the arm in her excitement. Clint and Natasha exchanged looks that only the two of them understood. And Bucky, well he felt oddly nervous on Steve's behalf. It was weird. The punk was clearly acting with false confidence.

"Good afternoon," a young female voice spoke, her voice holding a soft Irish lilt, "Friday speaking, how can I help you?"

And like that all of Steve's confidence vanished, "urm I'm sorry to bother you, I was looking for Tony, I mean Anthony Stark."

"Of course, what's your name sir?"

"Steve, uh Steve Rogers. From school."

"And what is your call in regards to?"

"I just wanted to check and see if he was okay."

"Please hold."

 

 

"Boss, you have a call."

Tony didn't even look up from his blueprints. Friday's voice washed over him, even as she cut out his music.

"Boss! I must insist."

He blinked slowly, with a somewhat ungraceful "hunah?"

Friday?

"Friday, what's up?"

"You have a call."

He rubbed a hand down his face, trying and failing to drag away the tiredness. He stretched and groaned. His elbow still hurt, and he was pretty sure he'd been working with a mild concussion after the last time Howard threw him against the wall. Probably Howard with more work. Or Obi with new budget reports for him to look over and approve.

"Which one of them is it?" Tony asked to his AI.

"Neither," she – it, Tony reminded himself – replied, "A pupil from your school. He claims to be Steven Grant Rogers. The number he is calling from match Steven's school records. No FBI, CIA, NCIS, NSA, or other government facilities suggest he has any connection to, well, anything. According to school records he is in your English, Spanish, and Physics classes, as well as homeroom. He seems to be calling to enquire about your absence for the past two days. ."

"Two days? I thought it was Friday morning?"

"It is currently Sunday afternoon, two-fifty-four to be exact. You last attended school on Wednesday, where you received detention. You have not left the premises since your return home."

Great, Steve was calling to yell about the English project. He'd sort that out tonight. Get it all finished, send to Steve for editing. Damn English project. He yawned and stretched again, raising his arms high above his head, meshing the fingers of each hand together and only releasing when there was a satisfying crack.

"Right, grounded. Is he still on hold?"

"Yes, he is, Boss. He has currently waited for seven minutes and thirteen seconds. The camera on his phone suggests he and a group of four others have been enjoying the hold music."

"Who are the four others?"

"Facial matches according to their student IDs suggest they are James Buchanan Barnes, Clinton Francis Barton, Darcy Lewis, and Natalia Alianovna Romonova though her preferred name is Natasha Romanoff."

"Odd, why would she go by a different name?" Tony mused aloud.

"I would suggest you take Mr Rogers' call."

"Right, yeah."

 

 

Steve shuffled back and forth between his feet, listening to ACDC as it played through the tinny speakers on his phone. Finally there was a click suggesting that his call had been picked up. Steve quickly turned off speaker and brought the phone to his ear.

"Steve," the voice said. It sounded croaky and pained, "how did you even get this-?" Steve was about to speak but Tony cut himself off, "actually never mind, not important. Friday, hide this number and all related incoming and outgoing communications to it. Limit viewing to myself only. Anyway," Tony rambled, "I know, the project. I'm working on it. Friday, get his email, so I can send him everything I've done so far. Feel free to edit etcetera, I don't really care."

"You should care about school," Steve chided, well, told off really.

"I have more important things to do," Tony sighed, and it was such a heavy sigh, "but I'll send you everything I have. I'll do more tonight."

"Tony-" Steve tried to interrupt.

"And in regards to the books, I've been thinking we could try a little bit more experimental and consider death in comic books-"

"That all sounds great but Tony-"

"I mean I know some people don't consider them 'real'," Steve could almost see the air quotes, "books but it'd be cool. I'll come up with an alternative in the event Coulson doesn't go for it-"

"TONY!" Steve ended up having to shout to talk over the incessant chattering of his English partner.

The change was instant, silence striking them both abruptly. Bucky and Darcy paused in their quiet background bickering, and Clint and Natasha exchanged a look, always speaking with subtle glances and pointed stares.

"I was calling to see how you were. There was a magazine, an article about – actually not important – but it said you were ill. I just thought I'd check in," Steve finished lamely, shrugging as though to emphasise his point, even if the other couldn't see.

"What? Yeah, fine," he answered, clearly distracted. Steve can hear a loud thump in the background, "I gotta go. I'll text you later."

 

 

He hung up the phone, speaking to Friday in his earpiece.

"Friday?"

"Your Father returned home approximately twenty-two seconds ago, and if his current speed is maintained he will reach your room in three minutes."

Tony grit his teeth, fighting against every instinct to just run,

"Friday, Code Raccoon, operate function distract and deter. Run Blackout protocol."

"Already running, Boss."

"That's my girl."

He could always count on her – it – to keep his mother out of the line of fire. His father was a hurricane of rage, the door slamming open with such force it shook the window panes. There was darkness in his eyes that Tony had known to fear from age five. It meant a plan of his father's own making had been rejected in favour of one of Tony's. Not one word was exchanged. Just a hand to his throat, squeezing tightly, and a punch to the nose, that left him bereft of any memory after that. When he came to, there was blood everywhere. The floor, the bed, the walls. Bloody shoeprints had been tracked across his cream carpet, joining the stains left in the years passed. He reached for his nose, relieved to find the bleeding had stopped. He heaved himself up, finding new aches joining the old. Moving stiffly, he moved into the bathroom. His nose was, thankfully, not broken. Small miracles. But he had two gorgeous black eyes, just visible under the blood, in lovely shades of black and blue. He stripped himself of his bloodstained shirt, eyeing up the damage. Hopefully just bruised ribs. He didn't want to have to wrap them up again. Although breathing did hurt. Bruising across the stomach. Sprained left wrist. Right arm, definitely fucked. Stripping himself of the rest of his clothes, he showered. Watched the water run red. Waited until in ran clear again. His routine for life, rinse and repeat. He was so tired. But with risk of concussion, he shouldn't sleep. Not yet. Another all-nighter then. He left the shower, rivulets of water running off his clean, pale skin. He towelled off, wrapped himself in a clean pair of dark grey sweats and an oversized black top with red, white, and blue shield on it.

After all, there's _always_ work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations - I am using google translate, if you have a better translation please let me know.  
> Tesoro - Treasure - Italian  
> Mia Piccolo Genio - My little genius - Italian  
> Tak, rozumiem. Dziękuję Ci - Yes, I understand. Thank you - Polish  
> Duch - Ghost or Spirit - Polish
> 
> Honestly I cannot thank you all enough, whether you've been one of my more patient reader's who have been with me from the start of this fic, or those who are just discovering it now. The kind words you guys are leaving is actually giving me the motivation to finish this (currently looking at 12-14 chapters, 12 are definitely planned though :) )


	5. Out the Window

He had done everything asked and more. And still Howard wouldn't let him leave the house. So he might have snuck out. It would only be for a week, just while his mother was in Aspen. Some retreat or something. But he left anyway. Crouching low below the window sill, he slid it open silently. He climbed onto the sill and sat there, Friday playing ACDC in his ear. Pulling his backpack onto the sill and dropping it onto the trellis archway. It rolled off and landed with a thud on the patio stones. The noise seemed to keep echoing in the silence. He froze, holding his breath, cursing his lack of forethought. Of course the bag would roll off the curved arch. He waited. Silence, unending and safe. He released his held breath in a soft whoosh. Pulling his black hoodie tighter around him to keep out the chill of the early morning air, he lowered himself carefully onto the archway, feeling with the tips of his toes until he found his footing. He dropped down onto the archway, climbing down the sides as if it were a ladder. He grabbed at the rucksack and swung it onto his shoulder. Pausing to listen to the silence once more, he gave one last look at the mansion before bolting.

"Friday, Day and time?"

She seemed eager to help in any way, jumping in before he'd even finished his sentence, "Tuesday morning, four-sixteen a.m. Shall I call you a cab, Boss?"

"Nah, I'll walk. Don't want to draw attention. In fact, blackout protocol, list of exceptions are for Birth-giver, and Alfred the Butler."

"Very well, Boss, allowing for contact from Maria Stark and Edwin Jarvis. Would you like to keep receiving emails from all recipients?"

"Limit to Mom, Dad, Jay, Obi, and Steve. He's been texting me non-stop about this English thing."

"Understood. Shall I allow for calls from Steven as well?"

Tony sighed, "go for it, at least he doesn't have to send ten texts a day that way."

He walked for an hour and a half, reaching the edge of a small park. Tiny in fact. It only had a circle of grass with benches circling it. Or maybe the park was regular size but living on the edge of Central Park had changed his perception of size. He dropped his bag at his feet and perched on the edge of the bench. The other benches were occupied by homeless people. Other homeless people? They were sleeping under flattened cardboard boxes. He was lucky, he had a home, he should go back.

"Yo, man, you okay?"

Tony looked up at a tall, toned, black man. He was dressed in running gear, "A bit early for a run, isn't it?"

The man smirked, until he saw Tony's face in the light of a flickering streetlamp, "Whoa man, what happened?"

Tony pulled the hood of his hoodie tighter around him, "Nothing, I'm fine."

"Liar," the man stated plainly, "you look like a racoon with those bruises," he sat down next to Tony, "wait I know you. Homeroom, right?"

Tony regarded the man carefully, "Rhodey?"

The man laughed, light and airy, "I guess you could call me that, though most call me Jim."

Tony coloured bright red, the flush creeping down his neck and up to his ears.

"Think I prefer Rhodey though," Jim mused, leaning back and staring at the sky, "C'mon, I'm sure there's a coffee place around here somewhere that's still open."

"I don't-"

"If you say you don't drink the stuff, I think I might die laughing," Jim – Rhodey – grinned, "I don't think I've ever seen you without a cup. Or at least without some form of caffeine."

And like that Rhodey dragged him away to an all night coffee shop.

 

 

"You've not been in for a few days, this why?" Rhodey gestured to the bruised eyes, and the still swollen throat.

Pulling up his cockiest grin, Tony smiled at the man, "what, this?" He gestured to his face, "this was someone not appreciating my art."

Rhodey raised his eyebrows and took a sip of his hot chocolate, "Why are you out so early?"

"You mean why am I out so late?" Tony quipped back, "just back from a bar."

Rhodey just gave him an unimpressed look and took another sip of his drink, "that's hot as Satan's shower," he looked at the drink in mild annoyance.

Tony laughed, smiling widely even though it hurt, "you aren't even drinking coffee, you wuss. And it needs to be so hot it feels like Lucifer himself is giving you a backrub with the fire from Mt Doom being used as massage oil. Anything less and you are doing coffee wrong."

Rhodey laughed and they fell into easy chatter. Eventually, nearing six-thirty Rhodey got up to leave, Tony remaining seated.

"What do you think you are doing?" Rhodey asked, giving Tony a look he couldn't understand.

He paused, fiddling with the handle of his empty mug, "well I was thinking of getting more coffee."

"Nah," Rhodey said, once again ~~pulling~~ dragging Tony to his feet, "My mom always makes too much food, come over for breakfast."

"But-"

"Dude, come on."

 

 

"Hi Mrs Rhodey – I means Mrs Rhodes," Tony introduced himself shyly, half hidden behind Rhodey's towering mass.

Not that he needed to be shy. The Rhodes welcomed him like family, despite being such an unexpected visitor. Mrs Rhodes - "Call me Roberta" - loaded him a plate full of eggs, bacon, toast, pancakes, basically every breakfast food imaginable. Only once the food was in front of him did he realise how hungry he was. His stomach rumbled in agreement. Apparently a diet of coffee, coffee, and yet more coffee wasn't enough.

"Dig in, we have plenty."

She flipped a few more pieces of bacon into the frying pan, wiggling her hips a little to the song playing softly on the radio. Mrs Rhodes reminded Tony of those cartoons, the ones he used to watch when he was little, the ones with the kindly women placing apple pies on window sills to cool. Like home, but not his home. Like a cartoon, sitcom, fantasy home. It was strange. A thundering sound came rumbling from the direction of the hallway. A young, happy face peered around the door. She looked so much like Mrs Rhodes Tony had to do a double take. But she was a good couple of decades younger, around fifteen years old, bushy hair pulled into braids and tucked behind her ears. Her eyes sparkled with mischief once she saw Tony.

"You look like you fought with a bear and lost," she grinned, snatching a slice of bacon, tossing it from hand to hand, before biting into it with a crunch.

"You seem oddly happy for someone who hasn't had coffee this morning," Tony frowned at her in confusion.

No one should be that happy in the morning.

"What can I say, I'm a lark."

Tony looked at Rhodey in confusion, "she has a theory," Rhodey explained, "that the world can be separated into Larks and Owls. She's a lark, so is mom. I’m an owl, I just make myself get up," Tony continued to look confused, "Larks are early risers but go to bed early, Owls are late risers but stay up all night."

Tony considered for a moment, "I'm definitely an owl, so's Mom. Dad's a lark. Jarvis is a Lark. I wonder what FRIDAY would be?" He pondered.

"Friday? What an unusual name," Roberta commented, pushing her glasses up her nose.

"It's an acronym. Eff-Ar-Ai -Dee-Ay-Why. Friday," Tony shrugged.

"Her name is an acronym?" asked Rhodey, "s'it really long?"

"No, she's my AI, that's the name I gave her."

"AI?" Rhodey's little sister asked, her tone rising to form the question, "is that like a PA? Why did you name her?"

"No, Jeanette," Rhodey replied, sounding a little embarrassed at his sister, "it's... well it's like... urm..."

"Like a computer software," Tony smiled at the teen, "I made it. AI stands for artificial intelligence. Basically a program that can think and act like a human. So I named it."

"What does Friday stand for?" she asked excitedly, leaning forward across the pine table.

"I don't remember," Tony lied through a forkful of pancake.

Of course he remembered. Hard to forget why he created her. Frequently Requested Injury Detection And Yabbering. Someone to look after him. Someone to talk to. Pathetic really. Definitely pathetic. But she - IT! - had been with him since he was eleven.

 

"I can walk to school."

"Why though? I'm driving in anyway."

Tony shuffled from foot to foot. It was a kind enough offer, but it was pity, he was sure.

"I can get there myself."

"I know," Rhodey replied, picking his jacket off the coat hook and tossing Tony's hoodie towards him, "I'm not denying your ability to walk."

Tony caught the sweater by reflex and Rhodey grinned brightly, "It's no problem, you'll be late now if you don't."

Tony sighed; he didn't want to be late, but he didn’t want to be a charity case either. He grabbed his bag. He was forced to take a packed lunch – brown paper bag and everything. He walked down the three flights of stairs to Rhodey’s beat-up car in front of the apartment block. The seats were worn and when Rhodey turned the key, the engine made noises Tony swore he’d only ever heard a dog make when it was hungry. He needed to look at the carburettor. Probably the exhaust too. But Rhodey hummed along happily to some indie rock on his cassette (oh god!) player.

 

“You can drop me off here.”

“We are still seven blocks away.”

Tony shrugged, “and?”

Rolling his eyes, Rhodey said, “and I’m taking you to school. What’s your problem with me dropping you off? I’m just trying to be nice here.”

“I don’t have a problem. But you might if they see you,” Tony muttered sullenly.

They pulled into the parking lot, Tony darting out immediately, before the car had even stopped. He waved goodbye and thanks to Rhodey. Ducking his head he barged through the crowd. Until someone hooked his arm.

“Stark, it’s been too long.”

Tony swallowed painfully, his throat throbbing. He nodded, “Stone.”

“I have someone who’d just kill to meet you.”

Tony shrugged off the arm that Tiberius had managed to worm across his shoulders, “I _am_ sorry but I have to get to homeroom.”

Ty grabbed his arm, grip tightening around his bicep, “What’s the hurry? You’ve been out for a few days. Killian, come over here.”

Killian instantly stood out in the crowd, though not in a good way. Blond hair but darker roots. Strong jawline. Bad Tan. Tall with his head above the crowds of other students. He turned and smiled. But it was cold. Distant. He stalked towards them and Killian and Stone walked him into the boys locker room.

“Oh I believe we’ve met. Elementary school, remember?” 

He slammed Tony back against the locker, punching the metal. Tony flinched away, causing the other two to laugh cruelly.

“Honestly, no.”

But Killian was off into a diatribe, “2nd grade science fair. You were everyone’s favourite-“

Tony rolled his eyes, “really? This is about a grudge from when we were eight?”

“I’ll make you regret making a fool out of me.”

Tony heard feet hitting the rough concrete floor in the row behind him.

“You see, I’ve invited everyone you’ve ever made a fool of to this little gathering.”

So many people, most of whom he didn’t recognise. A few he did. He didn’t even see the first punch. But it was weak by his usual standards. Their blows didn’t hurt half as bad as his father’s. But they still aggravated every ache. Eventually he was knocked down, shielding his face against the locker. He curled on the floor and waited for it all to be over, one way or another.

“OI, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?!”

And suddenly someone was wading through the sea of people. A couple of people were knocked down to the floor, their bodies landing at Tony’s feet. Someone was kneeling by him, talking softly. But his head was aching and he didn’t have the energy to focus. Most of his focus was spent on trying not to throw up.

“A TEACHER’S COMING!”

And like that, everyone but the person kneeling in front of him fled. The silence that followed was uneasy. Still and heavy. Or maybe that was just him. But now someone else was kneeling near him too.

“What happened?”

Tony recognised that voice. His favourite peaceful background noise.

“I don’t know,” the panicked voice said, “I came in here to grab my water bottle and I found him surrounded by a bunch of other guys.”

“Did you recognise anyone?”

“A few, I can give a statement if you like?”

“Thank you James; that would be helpful. Any thoughts on their reasoning for targeting Anthony?”

Tony coughed and tried to sit up, gentle hands stopping him,

“I don’t think they like me very much.”

One of the two ruffled his hair, “y’think? I knew something was wrong this morning.”

Oh, it was Rhodey. He knew he recognised that voice.

“What happened this morning?” the other voice questioned, constantly calm.

“Well-“

“Nothing,” Tony hissed, “it was nothing.”

“We should probably get you to the nurse. You’ll both need to come to my office afterward.”

Two pairs of hands helped him up. He finally managed to focus enough to figure out who the teacher was.

“Mr Coulson, what are you doing here?”

Okay, maybe concussion. Or shock. That’s a thing right?

“You got your ass beat so he’s helping me take you to the Nurse,” Rhodey explained, pulling Tony’s arm around his shoulders and supporting most of his weight.

“Sir, what do you think about the theme of death in comic books?” Tony asked, feeling sick and giddy at the same time. Probably definitely a touch of concussion.

“I think it’s a brilliant idea. Because for superheroes the idea of death leads to a certain vulnerability when juxtaposed to someone who is perceived as so strong.”

“Thanks Mr Coulson,” Tony grinned.

Only to pull away from Rhodey and dry heave against a wall. He paused for a moment, making sure it stopped, before leading the way to the nurse’s office under his own steam.

 

 

“No hospitals.”

“But Anthony,” the nurse tried, rubbing the bridge of her nose, “there’s a chance you’ve cracked your ribs.”

“No hospitals.”

“Fine,” she sighed after twenty solid minutes of refusal, “at least let me wrap them.”

Tony stayed still for a moment, deliberating, before nodding. He pulled up his top in on fluid motion, ignoring the murderous cries of agony that rippled across the muscles in his back, and ignoring the soft gasp when the nurse when she saw the marbling of bruises along his side. Rhodey was pulled out of the room just before, by Mr Coulson, and returned just after all the treatment.

“What did he want?”

“Nothing much. Class stuff.”

Tony nodded, not paying much attention since the nurse was dabbing antiseptic on a graze that covered his lower back.

“How many days until the essays are due in?” Tony asked, stretching to pull his phone out of his bag.

“End of this week.”

“How goes yours? You’re with Pepper right?” Tony asked, making small talk to fill in the time. Wasn’t the first time he’d been stuck in medical and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

“Pepper?”

Tony’s eyes widened in shock. Shit, he’d done it again, “the strawberry blonde you’re partnered with.”

“Well, we’re finished mostly. How about you? Who are you with?”

“Captain Perfect,” Tony groused, the words slipping from his tongue, “but I’ve been out for a while so I’ll need to finish up.”

The nurse popped out to her office for a moment, before returning five minutes later, “I’ve called home,” Tony paled drastically, skin looking grey under the bruising, “and Mr Jarvis is coming to collect you.”

But he nodded and stood on shaking legs. With short strides, he left the room.

 

 

How had Tony disappeared so quickly? Rhodey was chasing up and down the halls searching for him. Dammit, and right after Mr Coulson had asked him to keep his eye on the kid. Where on earth had Tony gone?

 

 

Everything hurt. He reached into his locker for the pain meds; he kept them in a lockable box. No one needed to find out he’s on a prescription for being a fucking pussy. He needed to find Steve anyway, before Jarvis comes. Needed to hand over the essay. Dry swallowing three, he turned and headed to the library. He pulled out his phone and texted Steve.

_I’m in school today but being sent home soon. Meet at library ASAP for essay._

He headed right to the back of the library, where the hardback classics that no one touched were housed. Homer’s Odyssey was dusty and the works of Jane Austen were watermarked by a leak in the roof. A slight mildew smell hung in the air. No one would ever bother to look for him here. He settled down and waited for Steve.

 

His phone buzzed while he was in math class. It would have to wait until the break. But Mr Richards was so boring. He whiled away the lesson, making faces with Clint. He was never very good at math anyway.

“Heard anything from your boyfriend yet?” Clint grinned.

Steve rolled his eyes, “Tony’s not my boyfriend, and no I haven’t.”

“Really? I heard he was in school this morning.”

The person in front of them coughed, clearly looking irritated.

“Something to add, Banner?”

He scowled at them, but shook his head, “not to people like you.”

“People like me! What’s that supposed to mean?”

Steve rested hand on Clint’s shoulder, pushing him down into his seat, “Bruce, right? You work with Tony more than anyone. What’s he actually like?”

Bruce looked surprised, though neither pleasantly nor unpleasantly, “he doesn’t deserve what people like you say about him. He’s quiet, likes Rock music, and works harder than anyone I know. He has the intelligence, the money, and the academic record to go to an Ivy League school yet he is currently in public school. Why do you think that is, hmm?”

And with perfect timing, the bell signalling end of period rang. Bruce gave them a disconcerting look before leaving. Steve finally remembered to check his phone.

_I’m in school today but being sent home soon. Meet at library ASAP for essay._

He stared at the message for what felt like hours. It was sent 50 minutes ago. No way would Tony still be there.

“You coming?” Clint called from by the door, Natasha and Bucky waiting with him.

“Actually no, you go on ahead. I need to head to the library for something.”

 

 

He definitely didn’t run to the library. Certainly not. But maybe, just maybe, it was a brisk jog. He slowed when he entered and crept among the books. A few seniors were frantically searching for books during the brief break. Steve approached the study area and slumped into a chair. Not here. Although he supposed he might as well try and find a genre with the theme of death that they hadn’t already covered. Maybe a more classical interpretation of death. He wandered up to the classical literature aisle. The smell of mould assaulted his nose, Steve brought up his sleeve to cover it. He wandered up the shelves, turning the corner to look at the works of Shakespeare.

“Oh god, Tony!”

Tony was slumped against the shelves, skin ugly shades of purple and yellow and black. Steve knelt down and shook him lightly. Tony’s eyes instantly snapped open, unmasked fear visible from this small distance.

“Oh Captain,” Tony yawned, “whatssup?”

Captain? That was odd.

“You look like… what happened?”

“Caught between a rock and a hard place. But I’m so so sorry I haven’t been around,” Tony reached into his bag and pulled out sheaves of pages and pushed them into Steve’s hand, “We need to work on the essay. Sorry I haven’t been able to help much.”

Steve offered a hand, Tony grasping it firmly.

“You should be in a hospital.”

“Probably,” Tony shrugged, only half listening as he pulled his tablet out, “we need to finish the essay.”

“Have you seen the nurse at least?”

“Yeah, yeah. Quit nagging. I don’t have long until Jarvis gets me.”

Tony flicked at his phone, texting someone, his whole attitude screaming ire.

 

_Please Jarvis, tell them anything but the truth._

_Sir, you know I cannot. Your father tells you to come home._

_If he wants me home so bad, he can tell me himself._

_He is a busy man. He has been caught up in meetings._

_I’m not going home yet._

_Sir, I understand but your father needs you home._

_And risk it again. I can’t Jarvis._

_I’m sorry, Sir. I will try to find a way to delay your homecoming._

_Stay safe._

_I will. And Jarvis…_

_Thank you._

_Please keep in contact sir._

_I will. Thanks J._


	6. Effs

They spent the day in the library, avoiding lessons and finishing essays. Steve stretched his hands above his head, enjoying the sensation as muscles pulled and vertebrae realigned after hours of being hunched over a desk.

“Let’s call it a day,” Steve said with a smile.

Tony shot a look at his phone, almost expectantly. Though after a second of silence, he nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, should be fine.”

Steve pushed away from the table, gathering up the books and slotting them back onto the shelves.

“You don’t have to tidy up,” Tony commented, watching with a touch of curiosity.

Steve looked back at him, slight grin, “Wow, people really do everything for you, don’t they?”

And he thought he could see a blush steal across Tony’s cheeks, his ears turning pink, “I didn’t mean- you know what, never mind.”

Tony slumped against the table, chin resting on his folded hands, staring distantly at one of his engineering books across the table. He looked so dejected that Steve almost felt – well not pity exactly… empathy wasn’t right either. Guilt maybe, at having jumped to the wrong conclusion.

“Sorry, what did you mean?”

Not raising his head, but eying Steve suspiciously, “I’ll still be here after you go. I would have put them away once I finished here. But I’d doubt you’d believe me,” Tony laughed bitterly.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know, you seem to like thinking the worst of me” Tony said, tone empty, face a blank canvas, “everyone does, really.”

“No they-“ But Steve couldn’t argue. He so often jumped to the worst thought he could about Tony, “Why don’t you try and change their opinions?”

Tony looked at Steve pityingly, “I used to try, back in… middle school I think. Then again as a freshman. People don’t change. So why bother trying?”

“People _do_ change!”

Tony scoffed, “No, Captain. They don’t. People promise they will, and they believe they have. But people never change. I would say trust me, but you have no reason to,” he smiled thinly at Steve, “you can believe what you believe, and I’ll not stop you. But I know how the world, or at least the small part that I occupy, actually works.”

Tony took the books out of Steve’s arms, pulling a footstool over with one foot so he could reach the higher shelves. Tony almost smiled for real when he looked over at Steve. The man looked like Tony had told him Santa, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy weren’t real in one fell swoop and then kicked a puppy for good measure. Convenient footfalls broke the awkward silence between them. Darcy slowed as she approached, ponytail bouncing in rhythm with her strides.

“Clint said you might be here, c’mon, we’re all going to Effs.”

Steve nodded, pulled from his daze by the hyperactive girl. Steve made to leave, expecting Darcy to follow.

“No, you’re coming too.”

Steve turned to see Darcy tugging on Tony’s wrist, Tony digging in his heels, face showing an emotion Steve just couldn’t read.

“I really can’t, I, uh, I have to-“

Darcy made a grab for his tablet, shoving it in her bag with a grin, “now you don’t. I’m holding this hostage until you join us. Please,” she wheedled, nudging him towards the door.

With a sigh and a hand dragged through his unkempt hair he followed along behind her.

“You love me really,” Darcy gave him the biggest grin she could muster, looping her arm through his and dragging him out the door.

Tony cast a look at Steve, a look that was somewhere between ‘what the fuck is happening’ and ‘save me please’. Steve snorted, choking back a laugh as Tony’s eyes narrowed. He jogged to catch up to them both.

 

 

Effs, or the Frightful Fowl as it turned out to be called, was… a dump in all honesty. The diner was coated in grease. Grease stained the tables, the chairs, the menus. Even using a napkin to wipe the grease only smeared it around. The booths were discoloured from age and sunlight. The linoleum would not have been out of place in the forties. Even the smell. Like burnt toast and fatty burgers. Overall, the Frightful Foul just reminded Tony of the colour brown. But four smiling faces greeted the newcomers from the corner booth, bowls of fries already on the table.

“Steve,” Bucky called, “look who I managed to grab after practice.”

Rhodey leaned back, one arm resting on the back of the booth, “you know it’s terribly bad form for the Captain to miss practice.”

“Oh crap, that was tonight? I was finishing an essay.”

“You’re Captain?” Tony piped up, a pink flush rising up his neck as all eyes turned to him.

“Yep,” Clint said, grabbing a handful of fries, tossing them into the air to catch in his mouth, “they’re all super athletic.”

“Says the archer,” Natasha leaned in, intercepting a fry before Clint got to it.

“Says the gymnast,” he shot back.

Darcy tossed her bag under the table. Tony winced as it crashed against the seating and onto the floor.

“James, move,” Darcy demanded, shoving into Rhodey’s side.

“Which one?” he quipped with a grin.

“You.”

“It is sort of confusing, you call both of us James,” Bucky replied, sucking on the straw of his milkshake.

“I think I’ll go by Rhodey.”

“Rhodey and Bucky,” Bucky nodded approvingly, “call us that.”

“But I like James.”

“Thank you,” they both replied in unison.

“Not- oh never mind. _Rhodey_ move up.”

Rhodey obliged. Steve slid in next to Bucky, Tony sitting on the end of the booth. He never felt so out of place. But Rhodey smiled at him. And he was asking everyone to call him Rhodey. That had to mean something right?

“Alright, so what’s everyone having?”

 

 

An hour. An hour he’d been part of a group and no one had yelled at him or snapped at him or told him to be quiet. Not that he was saying much. But still. He hadn’t had this much extended contact with someone since… well ever. It was scary to say the least. What if he said the wrong thing? He was known for fucking up.

“Tony, could you pass the ketchup?”

But he could do this, blend into the background. He really liked listening to them all talk.

“Tony, ketchup?”

Something about the irritation in that tone registered.

“Sorry, Hawkeye.”

He was going to go back to his musings but the table fell into silence. What did he do?

“Hawkeye?” Clint pondered, “I like it. The Incredible Hawkeye, the acrobatic archer.”

“Great work Tony, no one thought it was possible but you’ve inflated his ego even more,” Natasha smiled sardonically, poking Clint in the side to distract him from what he thought was an epic pose. Arms raised like he was holding a bow, stood on the bench with one foot on the table, was in fact not that great. Or hygienic.

“Sorry,” Tony replied immediately, ducking his head and fiddling with his hands in his lap.

Natasha smiled kindly, giving Clint a nudge and indicating with a tip of her head at Tony.

“I like it. You make me sound awesome. Better than ‘Bucky’,” he smirked at Bucky.

“Watch what you say, _Clinton_.”

An arrow was pulled out of somewhere, no one really wanted to know where. Clint rolled it between his fingers, which shouldn’t have been as intimidating as it was, “call me that name one more time. I dare you.”

Steve leaned in, eager to join the fun, “ _Clin…ton.”_

“You little-“

“Watcha going to do ‘bout it?”

Clint paused for a moment, before tucking the arrow back wherever he pulled it out from. His face broke into a wicked, evil grin, “Well…” he said, mock-thoughtfully, “I could tell Tony about that Halloween when you were seven.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh but I would.”

“How do you even know about that?”

“Why my smart, resourceful, beautiful, amazing compadre here,” he leaned back, wrapping Natasha in a hug and kissing her cheek, which she accepted passively while texting.

“How does she- actually I don’t want to know. Please,” Steve beseeched, eyes imploring reason.

“I have pictures now,” Natasha smiled sweetly, “Tony, would you like to see?”

She offered her phone across the table, Steve slapping it out of her hand. It flew across the mostly empty diner. All would have been fine had it not landed next to the door just as someone else entered, searching out a cup of (in Tony’s opinion, exceedingly poor) coffee. The door landed a solid hit. The phone skidded, bouncing off a chair leg before hitting the bottom of the counter. The casing fell apart completely, revealing the inner circuitry. The table fell into silence, all eyes skittering between the phone, Natasha, and Steve.

“He’s stuck in her web now,” Tony muttered, Rhodey nodding along unthinkingly.

“Sorry Nat, but you were-“

A hushed wince from the audience. Rookie move.

“She’s going to eat him alive,” Rhodey replied.

Tony shook his head slightly. It bugged him. The thought of her hurting Steve. He knew she wouldn’t. But still. Better safe than sorry. He slid out the booth unnoticed, sweeping the remnants of the phone into his hand and bringing them back to the table. It shouldn't have broken like that. Tony frowned at the device. Stark Phone, the AT4 model. Production has been cutting corners with their materials. Tense conversation returned, most of which Tony ignored. He pulled out a tiny tool kit of his own design, content at being lost in something so familiar. It took a few minutes to register that Steve was watching him, and that Rhodey was glaring at Steve. Ignoring them both, he kept working.

“Aaaand almost done. The power supply didn’t come out so I just need to reattach this wire-“

“Shouldn’t you disconnect the power then?” Steve warned, sounding concerned.

“Nah, at worst it will be like a _mild_ electric shock, anyway,” Tony poked is tongue out between his lips as he carefully reattached the wire to the delicate circuit board, “Iiiiiii’m done.”

The phone’s screen lit on a picture. A young boy with white-blond hair, dressed in a red, white, and blue costume. He was holding up a small bucket, coloured with circular bands of red and white, a white star in a blue circle at the centre. The child was grinning, standing tall with the cowl around his shoulders.

“Cute,” Tony said with a chuckle, “is that you?”

He flipped the phone around, showing Steve the photo. Steve flushed a brilliant magenta, before shooting Natasha a look that could maim. He would say kill but it’s Captain Perfect we are talking about here.

She grinned back at him, “Thanks Tony.”

He tossed the phone lightly through the air to her, Natasha catching it deftly, “you can go back to spinning your webs or whatever.”

Her eyes lit up, “Webs? What sort of spider am I?”

Tony replied automatically, not having a moment to consider how stupid he sounded, “Black Widow.”

But Natasha turned to Clint, resting her chin lightly on her fingertips, “I think I rather like that,” she smirked.

“I feel like I should be scared, but really I’m just aroused.”

“Scaroused,” Darcy commented, pinching the leftover chips off Clint’s plate.

“You do know that female Black Widow Spiders eat their mate after sex, right?” Tony asked, looking concerned at the pair.

“Worth it, and I think,” he glanced at Natasha, who nodded subtly, “we’ll be calling it a night.”

Everyone else moved out of Natasha’s way, Clint climbing over their laps before they had a chance.

 

 

Everyone stretched around the booth now they had more space. Bucky was studying a biology textbook, Darcy rummaging through her bag. “Aha-“ She pulled out a hairbrush triumphantly- “found it.” She scooted over to Bucky and began brushing his hair.

“His eyes are screaming,” Steve laughed at his friend as Darcy began tying braids in his hair.

“It _is_ getting kind of long.”

Bucky fingered the strands that hung around his face.

Darcy’s face lit with excitement, “can I-“

“No, you can’t cut it,” Bucky shut that down, Darcy slumping down.

“Well you’re no fun.”

They fell into easy silence. Rhodey was chewing thoughtfully on his straw. Steve was reading through Tony’s notes on the essay. Darcy was still fiddling with Bucky’s hair while he flipped idly through a magazine Clint had left. Tony pulled out his phone.

“What are you always doing on your phone?” Bucky asked, leaning across Steve – despite Darcy’s protests – to try and catch a glimpse of Tony’s screen.

Tony shrugged lightly, sitting up a little straighter.

“The usual I guess. Writing speeches, organising press conferences, setting up product announcements, preparing statements, designing schematics, making my observations, my notions, my budget reports, my to do list, my calendar, you know, normal stuff.”

Bucky let out a low, slow whistle, “and when do you find time to sleep?”

Tony simply waved his hand dismissively, already lost in his work again. Bucky nudged Steve.

“Say something,” he mouthed.

Steve gestured vaguely with his hands, “like what?”

But Rhodey beat him to it, “want to stay round mine tonight, Tones?”

The nickname in and of itself was noteworthy enough to draw Tony’s attention away from texting and more to talking. And then the rest of the sentence sunk in. It would really help having somewhere to stay tonight. But that would involve actually admitting weakness, something he loathed. Every cower, every grimace, every flinch and flee was proof that he was as weak as his father said. He ~~wanted~~ , no he needed to make Howard see he was more. 

“No, but I will fix that damn car of yours. The exhaust is shot to hell. And cassettes? Really?”

“I like the way they sound. And you know about cars?”

Tony tested the words slowly, sounding them out as he went, “I know… about… most things.”

“That’s awesome, Tones,” Rhodey rubbed the back of his head, brushing the hair back and forth under his palm, “I can’t really afford to take it to a mechanic, so I, well I can't afford-“

“You’ve prepaid,” Tony replied with a grin, tossing his phone over to Rhodey, “put your number in.”

He looked sceptical, even as he typed his number in, “but-“

“Seriously, your Mom’s breakfast covers the cost.”

Rhodey grinned, tossing the phone back at Tony (who immediately went back to answering emails), “meet me in the park tomorrow then, same time. I’ll make sure you have pancakes a la Rhodey. Best damn ones in New York.”

“Throw in blueberries and you have yourself a deal,” Tony extended his hand across the table, Rhodey shaking enthusiastically.

“You drive a hard bargain Mr Stark.”

“I’m worth it,” Tony replied, a ghost of a grin on his lips.

Bucky nudged Steve, smirking at him, “when did they get so close?”

Bucky knew exactly what he was doing. He was winding Steve up little. Only a little. He just wanted to see if he would bite. He was so sick of him moping about his favourite little genius.

“Yeah, when did you get so close?” Steve interrogated, scowl furrowing his brow, lips downturned in dissatisfaction.

Rhodey smirked at him. He knew exactly what Bucky was doing.

“We’re best friends,” he looked at Tony, nodding firmly to confirm it with the genius. It wasn’t like Tony had a choice now, Tony was his. “Completely platonic bros, no homo.”

“Not even a little homo?” Darcy piped up, peaking around Bucky.

Tony was crimson, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. The room was suddenly rather too hot. The room’s eyes were all on him.

“Sorry, Darce. Gotta follow my heart here.”

“Does that mean he’s available?”

She took a moment to openly check Tony out, a soft sigh passing her lips as she nodded to herself. She had that sudden epiphany look about her.

“NO,” Steve burst in, “he’s not available.”

Then Darcy’s epiphany look turned to glee, “and why’s that Stevie?” Her voice was all sugar and sweetness.

“I have work to do,” Tony answered, unknowingly sparing Steve agony yet supplying disappointment, “I wouldn’t be allowed.”

Bucky opened his mouth, only to be interrupted by phone ringing.

“Sorry, that’s mine,” Rhodey held up his index finger, using the universal symbol of ‘gimme a minute’, “yeah, fine Mom, I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he hung up the phone with a grimace, “sorry, I have to go, babysitting duty.”

Darcy glanced out the window, startling at how dark it had become outside, “it _is_ getting late,” she yawned, stretching her arms above her head before reaching to grab her bag, “Bucky, walk me home, yeah?”

“I will, but only because I look fabulous now,” he agreed, toying with his braids.

She slapped his hands away, “don’t, you’ll mess them up.”

She made to leave, climbing over Bucky, Steve, and Tony, using a hand on their heads to steady herself. She waited for Bucky to climb through as well, having given Steve and Tony the chance to slide out and allow him to climb out unencumbered.

Darcy shoved a wodge of notes into Steve’s hand, “that should cover me, Clint, and Nat.”

Bucky searched into his bag, giving Steve a sheepish smile.

“I’ll cover you, you can get me back tomorrow.”

“Thanks man,” Bucky slapped Steve lightly on the back before chasing after Darcy and Rhodey who were already out the door. “Bye guys,” he called without turning round.

“Suppose we better get going too…” Steve looked around for Tony, finding him speaking to the waitress.

He watched as he handed over a few crumpled notes, clearly apologetic for not having more. But the waitress was shaking her head, a quivering hand to her mouth as she stared at the notes in her palm.

“Tony,” Steve called, “you don’t have to. I’ve got their share.”

Tony shrugged and waved away Steve’s words without a though. He'd settled the bill with Yvonne, it was sorted now.

“We should probably go,” Steve said once again.

He had nowhere in particular to be. He had a place he shouldn’t be. But Steve didn’t need to know that, “s’ppose we should.


	7. The Deluge

They both walked the same way. It was sort of peaceful between them. It was actually rather nice, Tony thought, they weren’t at each other’s throats. Something much more closely resembling friendship. Although Captain Perfect wouldn’t call it that. Not a chance. It actually was sort of annoying. Steve was Captain of the football team, a quarter-back, tall, blond, gorgeous, popular; he was every high-school cliché Tony knew of. And Tony, Tony knew he was the worst kind of cliché. He was the bullied nerd. The sidekick. The one who helps the hero get the girl, the one who is only there as a supplement to other people. They walked, weaving in and out of tired pedestrians making their way home.

“SHIT!”

“Language, you scared me,” Steve exclaimed, hand clasping his chest as his racing heart began to steady again.

“Sorry, it’s just I left my tablet in Darcy’s bag. We have to go back.”

Tony whirled round, ready to run off despite not knowing where Darcy lived (Friday could find out though). But a noise, mellifluous and comforting, caught him. He turned to see Steve doubled over laughing, holding up his tablet.

“I meant,” Steve said, wiping away tears of mirth, “to give it back to you. I took it from her bag during the braiding thing. Sorry, just you sounded like someone died.”

Tony clasped the computer to his chest gratefully, before tucking it securely into his own bag.

"You little sneak thief."

Taking a deep breath, then another, he looked at Steve. Crap. Why did he look at Steve? There he was, fulfilling another glorious cliché. The knight in shining armour. The actually _genuinely_ nice guy. Dammit. He couldn’t develop _feelings._ Crushes were out of bounds, feelings of love were forbidden. Hell, he was breaking every one of Howard’s rules by simply being out with people. People hurt him, cheat him, and beat him. They would use him for his money, name, and fame, then drop him when it stopped being convenient. He knew this. Objectively he knew this. It was truth by his every definition of people. So friends, feelings, and all of that should stay in fiction, where it belonged. He just couldn’t have time for it. But, even as he twisted his satchel strap around his hand, he couldn’t help but hope.

“Thanks Steve, for getting my tablet. You saved me.” 

Steve stumbled a little, his ears glowing pink at the praise, “it was nothing.”

“Not to me. If I’d have lost this, Howard would have been so mad.”

Even when he referred to his father, he felt a chill throughout his body.

“Cold?” Steve was looking at him all doe-eyed.

“Not really.” Tony kept walking, anticipating Steve would catch up.

But something landed on his head with a thwump. Pulling whatever it was off his head, he held up the sweater with an eyebrow raised.

“You’re cold, put it on.” “I’m fine.”

“You were ill just last week.”

“I wasn’t ill,” Tony looked at Steve in confusion.

Pulling a magazine out of his bag, Steve tossed it to Tony. Howard was on the cover with the headline _Howard Stark wants to save the world._ A little bile rose up Tony’s throat.

“Bucky left that in the diner.”

Tony flipped to the dog-eared page. Ah, his mom told the press he was ill, “right, that. It was nothing. Mom was overreacting.”

Steve laughed, “She’d be overreacting if you had your head chopped off, if it were up to you.”

Tony carefully folded the sweater, trying to give it back to Steve.

And then the Heaven’s opened.

 

 

Running, shouting, laughing, they ran through New York covering their heads with their bags, chasing the silver rivers that ran alongside the sidewalk. The rain just kept getting heavier. Steve grabbed Tony and pulled him into a sheltered alcove.

“Now you’re cold.”

“I-i-i-I’m n-n-not c-c-cold. Y-y-y-yo-you’re c-c-c-old.”

“Just put the sweater on, Tony.”

“B-b-b-but the b-b-b-baby b-blue wouldn’t s-s-s-suit me. It g-goes well with your eyes.”

Steve pulled it out of Tony’s hands and shoved it over his head.

“Better?” Steve asked smugly.

And loathed as he felt to admit it, he was. Much better actually. The wool was warm, the shivers stopping after a few minutes. The sleeves were too long, almost covering his fingertips but that only made him feel cosier. Not the sort of thing he’d ever wear outside but still, it was nice.

“Guess we just wait out the rain.”

“Guess so,” Tony agreed, watching the constant ripples as droplets landed in puddles.

“Rainy New York nights always look so beautiful,” Steve sighed, sitting down and pulling his knees to his chest.

He rested his chin atop them, staring into the street as cars drove by.

“Not the word I’d use,” Tony answered, sitting down next to him.

The sky above them a slate grey and the streets dark and cold.

“But look at the colours,” Steve sighed again, “The silver of the rain, the golden of lights, so bright against the darkness of the surroundings.”

Tony looked out onto the road again. It was like Steve had placed glasses on him and he was seeing the street for the first time. The road glistened gold and sparkled silver. The street lights were like torches guiding them through the darkness. The cars, chariots to take their riders on adventures unknown.

“Must be nice,” Tony mused.

Steve looked askance at him, “what?”

“Seeing the world as you do,” Tony looked back at the street, it all fading back to cold and emotionless.

A few moments of silence was all Tony could manage, “so what do you do? Outside of school?”

“Well I have my football,” Tony nodded along with him, “but I spend most of my time painting.”

“Really?”

“Don’t tell Clint,” Steve said quickly.

“I won’t, I promise,” Tony held out his pinkie.

A little surprised by the childish gesture, Steve hooked his pinkie with Tony’s as they promised.

“But that actually explains it.”

“What does?”

“You’re a romantic, an artist. You see a canvas, I see an empty street.”

“So you’re, what, a realist?”

Tony nodded, resting his chin in his palm.

“Okay,” Steve looked up at Tony from where we was resting his head on his knees, “I told you a secret about me, you tell me one about you.”

“Oh that’s what we’re doing, is it?”

“Yup,” Steve said cheerfully.

“Alright then.” Tony thought for a moment.

He was taking so long, Steve almost thought he wouldn’t answer. He thought maybe he pushed too much, was asking for more than Tony would allow him.

“Okay, I’ve got one,” Tony said, pulling Steve from his morose reverie, “as much as I love listening to ACDC and UFO, I also really love Lady Gaga-” Steve snorted- “Your go.”

“I’m afraid of horses. Luckily it doesn’t come up often.”

“I’m afraid of pigeons.”

Steve startled a little, “what? Why?”

How could someone like Tony Stark be afraid of something so small and harmless,

“You are afraid of pigeons? You know where you live right?”

“Yes,” Tony sighed, “they just freak me out okay. Although it’s not just pigeons…”

“Go oooon.”

“I don’t like swans or canaries either.”

“I cannot see a link between them,” Steve laughed.

Tony prodded Steve just under the ribs, only succeeding in making him laugh louder. But laughter is contagious and soon they were giggling together.

 

 

It carried on like that, slowly becoming a contest on weird facts about themselves. Steve doesn’t like green peppers; Tony is allergic to face paint; Steve was allergic to cats but somehow it disappeared around puberty; Tony’s favourite movie – not that he gets to watch many – is The Lego Movie but he tells people it’s Die Hard; Steve loves salted popcorn but hates sweet; Tony’s lucky number is 13 but his unlucky number is 17; Steve’s lucky number was 4 and he didn’t have an unlucky number; Tony’s favourite meal is Apple Tortes, but only when it is cooked by, and he gets to enjoy it with, his butler.

“Why just your butler’s?”

“He cooks it the best,” Tony smiled pensively, “we – Jarvis, his wife, and I – always used to eat it together. It was her favourite too. She passed away about a year ago… I don’t know why, I never wanted to ask. At the time I guess I thought if I asked it would make it real. But then time passed and I just had to accept she was gone.”

Steve didn’t think Tony realised he had tears in his eyes, even as he smiled sadly.

“Does Jarvis know it’s your favourite?”

“No, and I don’t want to tell him. I don’t want to bring up those memories for him.”

Steve stared up at the sky, still dark and raining, “I don’t know. If it was me I would be looking for any excuse to talk about her. I would want to make sure she wasn’t forgotten.”

Tony’s mouth was agape, eyes shining brightly in the street lights. He closed his mouth and huddled further into Steve’s sweater.

“What about your Mom and Dad? Must be pretty amazing to be their son.”

Tony smiled, like there was a joke somewhere in Steve’s words, “Yeah, what about you? What’s your family like?”

“Me? I don’t really have much family. Just my mom and I.”

“Where’s your dad?”

“Green-Wood Cemetery.”

“Oh…” Tony fiddled with his hands in his lap, “I’m sorry,” he eventually said, awkward and stilted.

Steve smiled cheerlessly, “don’t be. He was doing his second tour in Afghanistan, I was about six. I feel bad about it, but I barely remember him.”

Their game of swapping information stopped as they just listened to the patter of rain on the concrete.

 

 

The rain wasn’t letting up. If anything it just kept getting heavier.

“You never answered,” Steve said suddenly, “what are your parents like?”

Tony shrugged, “there’s nothing I can tell you… You like art right? Do you want to study it at college?”

“Yeah,” Steve reached into his backpack and pulled out a small sketchpad, hand resting on the cover, “that’s actually why I got into football,” he laughed awkwardly.

“Huh?”

“Scholarships, I probably wouldn’t be able to afford college otherwise.”

“Aren’t there art scholarships?”

“Not enough of them,” Steve exhaled, a little annoyed sound following, “how about you? Engineering I would guess.”

“And you’d be right,” Tony said, leaning over to rest his chin on his knees. He was starting to cramp from being crammed in to this alcove, “MIT, majoring in electrical engineering, minor mechanical engineering, chemistry, physics, and computer science.”

“That sounds…like a lot.”

“Yeah, well I have to take over the family business.”

“That’s a heavy burden.”

“Yeah I guess,” Tony shrugged, the movement lost under the folds of fabric.

They fell into silence again, Tony not venturing any topic of conversation, Steve absorbing what he’d heard. He actually felt really guilty, unable to sit still. He accused Tony of never having to work for a thing in his life. A nouveau riche layabout. And now he felt he couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Tony, I’m-“

“I know. And don’t worry, everyone thinks that about me.”

“Oh… that still doesn’t make what I did okay.”

“Would it help if I said I forgive you?”

“I don’t know. But it’s-”

“I forgive you, Steve.”

And the way he said Steve’s name, so warm and accepting, it felt almost intimate. Like the caress of a lover’s cheek, or a moment of eye contact lingering on for a tad longer than convention.

“Thanks, but it isn’t about whether I feel better.”

“Well I feel nothing at all so,” Tony laughed, stretching his feet. His legs only just reached out into the storm, rain hitting his shoes and dampening the bottom of his jeans, “it takes more than people believing what people will always believe to hurt me.”

Steve joined in the laughter, but something felt unsettling in Tony’s words. Even if he couldn’t place what was wrong.

“Speaking of hurt, who did that to you?” Steve gestured at the bruises.

“I’m not naming names, if that’s what you mean.”

Steve held up his hands in surrender, “okay, I won’t ask you to. But can you handle it?”

Tony grinned, sudden and bright and cocky. It seemed so switched on, automatic and mechanic. “Aww Captain, you wanna protect liddle ol’ me? Don’t worry,” he barked a laugh, “there’s nothing I can’t handle.”

 

 

“How did you know how to fix Nat’s phone?” Steve asked, thoughts going back to the diner.

Tony looked at him, epitome of confusion across his face, “you’re kidding right?”

Steve shook his head, furrowing his brow, a touch annoyed by his tone.

“Huh,” Tony replied, looking bemused, “you really don’t know. Guess he really doesn’t give me any credit,” he said in an undertone, like a note to himself, before answering “I designed it. I mean that version is a few years old, but still. Kinda hard to not recognise your own work.”

“How many years old?”

Tony shrugged, “about three, maybe three and a half.”

“You’ve been designing phones since you were fifteen?!” Incredulous, his voice rose to a shout.

Tony winced and pulled away from Steve at the noise.

“Sorry, but wow. Just. Just wow.”

“I guess now would be the time to tell you I’m actually seventeen.”

“WHAT!”

Tony flinched, hands instinctually coming up to protect his face, “not so loud Steve. And I’ve been making them since I was eight I think, maybe nine,” he shrugged, nonchalant, “it’s not a big deal-“

“It’s such a big deal. I mean wow,” Steve ran his hand through his hair, “when I was eight, I was still learning how to ride a bike. I mean-“

“Don’t,” Tony snarled, “don’t do that. I’m not-“ Tony pressed his hands to his face, groaning in frustration- “just don’t okay. Very different circumstances. Plus,” Tony said with a grin, “I don’t actually know how to ride a bike.”

 

 

Tony’s phone rang. It startled them both out of what has become quite a comfortable atmosphere. Tony was leaning against Steve, eyes at half-mast, caught in the blissful state between awake and dreaming. Steve was absently playing with Tony’s hand, Tony humming as Steve massaged the flesh at the base of his thumb. But the phone rang. Tony looked at the screen, swiping his thumb to take the call.

“Hey Jarvis,” he answered tiredly.

There was a buzz of a voice, causing Tony to pale. He extricated himself from Steve, pulling away and standing up. He walked into the rain, pacing back and forth.

 

 

“Tony, oh thank god, I thought you might pick up if you thought it was Jarvis. You have to come home.”

He remained silent, listening to his father’s ragged breathing.

“Please Tony, you’ll break your mother’s heart if she finds out you ran away.”

Again he stayed silent. He had nothing to say.

“You’ve made your point. I’ve learnt my lesson. I’ll be better. I’ll get help. I’ll quit drinking. Just please come home. What would Maria think, running away from her? Tearing this family apart?”

Tony swallowed. He hated that. A few words and he was ready to go back.

“You’ll leave her alone if I return, right?”

“I won’t tell her a thing.”

“You know that isn’t what I mean,” Tony said softly, “you _will_ leave her alone.”

Howard sighed irritably, “Tony,” he growled, “everything I do is for yours and your mother’s own good.”

“You won’t touch her,” Tony snarled back down the phone, surprised at the strength in his own voice.

Howard sighed again, this time softer. It sounded like he was agreeing to the childish remarks of a three year old, “fine, I won’t touch my _wife_ whom I love very much. So you’ll come home? You’re acting like a child.”

Tony looked across at Steve, who was watching him from the stoop they were taking shelter.

“Yes.”

“Great,” Howard’s voice was jubilant, bouncy and excitable in a way Tony had never heard it, “I’ll send a car, what street are you on?”

“Grand and Elizabeth.”

“I’ll send Jarvis with the car.”

“Okay.” Tony hung up – he’d probably pay for doing that later – and returned next to Steve.

There was nothing he could do.

 

He had to go back.

 

 

 

Tony looked so resigned. It was a look Steve didn’t like on him. Tony should be smiling like fire, bright and brilliant, bringing light and warmth. He’d seen that smile and wanted more of it. He’s not entirely sure what possessed him. But he was cupping Tony’s chin, turning those coffee eyes to his. Droplets clung to his lashes, and Steve used his thumb to wipe a stray raindrop off his cheek. A smile graced his lips, finding it a little humorous at how surprised Tony looked, and perplexed. Steve was a puzzle that he couldn’t solve. He had to admit, he quite liked being unsolvable to the genius. He leaned forward, lips a breath away from touching. But the sound of tyres on wet concrete and the glare of headlights caused Tony to turn his head. Tony’s eyes were glazed over. It was concerning to say the least. He looked shell-shocked, his hands shaking where he slid them into Steve’s.

“I’ve,” Tony hesitated, not looking at the car, or at Steve, “I have to go.”

He stood up, stumbling down the steps, a white-knuckled grip on the handrail keeping him upright. He walked up to the car, giving a despondent wave to the driver. In one smooth motion, he opened the door, leaning on the top of it as he turned back to Steve.

“Do you really think people can change?”

For some reason, Steve felt a lot hanging on his answer, “Yes, I do.”

He had to believe that. He had to believe he could change. Change so he would stop making snap judgements of Tony that were so often wrong. Tony nodded, lost in thought.

He smiled a half smile, anxious and afraid, “Let’s hope so.”

He slid into the car, closing the door. But before it slammed shut, Tony poked his head out with a grin.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’d make a great Captain America.”

The door shut, the sound bouncing around the empty street. The car drove off, leaving Steve standing in the rain on the sidewalk.

“Well shit, I think I like Tony Stark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About halfway through now, any guesses as to what inspired this fic?  
> It's going to be a book, film, song, or video game.
> 
> Though with some artistic liberties involved, of course.


	8. Car Rides and Confused Walks Home

Tony relaxed back into the black leather. He might as well enjoy these last few moments of being out of the house. Howard would probably lock him in his room. Hopefully he wouldn’t hit him. The bruises were only just starting to fade. His chest still ached. Everything still ached. Jarvis was driving slowly, crawling along the roads.

“Jay.”

“Sir?”

He shuffled in his seat, arm wrapping around his chest. Around Steve and the others he’d forgotten the pain. He’d been able to breathe.

“You know I never blamed you right?”

“Sir, I-“

“I know my dad. You’d need bullet proof, indisputable evidence. And he was careful, so careful, that no one ever saw. His NDA’s are both fool and genius proof. If you had gone to the cops, you’d be in prison for besmirching the old man’s name. Then I wouldn’t have had you at all. I know you feel bad, but don’t. You couldn’t have done more than you did.”

“But sir, I didn’t do-“

Jarvis’ voice was cracking. Tony absently noted he had the steering wheel in a death grip.

 

Steve was… confused.

“Bucky, I need to talk to you.”

“All ears,” Bucky said, and the tone of his voice suggested he really wasn’t. That and the rustle of paper.

“Can you stop reading that comic for five minutes?”

There was the sound of paper rustling through the air, then a light thump. Bucky had tossed the comic book across his room.

“Sounds important, what’s wrong?”

“I uh, I think I like Tony.”

“Oh, well duh.”

“As in like-like Tony.”

“I repeat, duuuuh.”

“Why isn’t this as shocking to you as it is to me?” Steve demanded.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Bucky answered thoughtfully, “maybe because I can see how the two of you interact. An objective observer. Clint was thinking of starting a pool as to when you’d realise.”

“I hate our friends,” Steve moaned.

“No you don’t. If it wasn’t for Darce dragging him out, you’d’ve never realised you liked him.”

“Actually, I think it was chatting with him in the rain.”

“You WHAT? Get your ass home NOW!”

He could almost see Bucky sit up straighter, and the well-known scowl on his face, “Bucky, I’m-“

“-In so much shit with me right now,” Bucky cut in, “you spent your childhood ill, really want to repeat that? Haul ass out of the rain now!”

“Buck, I’m fine. I’ll stop by yours on the way home.”

 

 

“You actually did loads Jarvis. You and Ana.”

He said the name tentatively, silently waiting for a response.

When it came, it was with that same tearful voice, “she, she could never understand Howard. The way he spoke to Maria-”

“Mom loved Ana.”

“They used to go shopping together before you were born,” Jarvis wiped under his eye, a watery smile crinkling his eyes, “they became closer than sisters. It was, it was wonderful to be around her.”

Tony nodded, crying himself now, “she always made a room happy. I loved coming over to see you together. It felt safe.”

 

 

Bucky was glowering at him, towel in one hand and hairdryer in the other. Steve relented immediately, knowing better than to fight Bucky when he was in his mother-hen mode. He shoved Steve onto his leather couch, perching on the back to dry Steve’s hair as Steve towelled the rest of himself down.

“Not even wearing your sweater, idiot.”

“I loaned it to someone.”

Bucky switched off the hairdryer, leaning over to look Steve in the eyes – which Steve carefully avoided.

Bucky groaned, “oh God, you’re besotted, aren’t you?”

“Am not!” Steve snatched the hairdryer and finished his hair.

“Are too.”

“Not.”

“Whatever dude, so you like him.”

“But I’m not gay!”

“First off, that doesn’t matter. You like who you like. Secondly, you’re right, you aren’t. I saw you with that British girl-“

“Peggy.”

“Right her, you were totally smitten for her too. I don’t doubt your feelings for her, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Steve thought for a moment. What he felt for Tony was of the same nature as what he had felt for Peggy back then. Only it was different too. Somehow. In a way he couldn’t put his finger on.

“Honestly to me, it sounds like you might be on the bisexual spectrum. Or pansexual.”

Steve fell into silence, Bucky leaving him to it as he went to make Steve something hot to drink. He’d be damned if he let the idiot catch a cold on his watch. Bucky made them both coffee, his black with two sugars, Steve’s full of cream and sugar. He handed the mug to Steve who clutched it to his chest as his world realigned.

“Okay, bisexual… that sounds…”

Bucky took a slurp of his coffee, “you know you don’t have to name it right? No pressure to label.”

Steve nodded, “okay, we’ll go without a label for now.”

 

 

“You were my family. Ana really loved you. I always wanted that, that happiness,” Tony said quietly, meeting Jarvis’ eyes in the rear view mirror.

Jarvis stopped the car, and got out.

“Wait, where are you-“

Tony’s door opened, Jarvis reaching in and hugging the small boy. Tony shifted to the side, dragging Jarvis to sit beside him.

“You're our family too.”

And it was like the dam broke. Tony tucked his head against Jarvis’ chest, sobbing loudly, fists clenched in his Butler’s shirt.

“I’m so-“ Tony hiccupped- “so tired. I don’t-“ he sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, “I don’t want to go home.”

“We don’t have to. We can go anywhere you want.”

 

 

“So you like Tony,” Bucky asked, sitting sideways in the armchair, reading the magazine Clint had left him left in the diner, “you going to ask him out?”

“He’s not gay though – or bisexual. He dates girls.”

Bucky looked at Steve with a look of bemused amusement, “would have thought she would have told you,” he said to himself, “Darcy told me he’s never had a girlfriend. He told her himself. Straight from the horse’s mouth and everything.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s into guys.”

“No it doesn’t,” Bucky agreed, “but I know tonnes of straight guys who have you as their real world exception. I'm just sayin’ it ain’t as open an’ shut as you’re makin’.”

 

 

Tony was stunned into silence. Jarvis would do that? For him? He’d be a man accused of kidnap, stealing the child who was worth billions. He’d be wanted in every state. Howard would conduct a man-hunt across the world to get his heir back. But Tony couldn’t do that to him. And he couldn’t do that to his Mom either. Howard needed something to direct his rage at. If it wasn’t Tony, it was Maria. So Tony had to make sure it was _always_ him.

“Thank you Jay, but I can’t. I have to go home.”

Jarvis nodded understandingly, face set in a grim line, “very well, sir.”

“I have to protect Mom.”

Jarvis sighed, depressed, “I understand sir, though I really wish neither of you required protecting.”

Tony chuckled darkly, “same here,” he wiped his eyes and nodded at Jarvis.

Jarvis made to move away before pulling Tony back into tight hug, squeezing him for a moment, “always remember you are loved, we love you like our own. Please don’t ever forget that.”

Jarvis left and went back to the driver’s seat, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief. He cleared his throat.

“Ready to go home, sir?” the butler asked in a forcefully even voice.

Tony looked out the window at the dark world.

“Can we make one stop before we go?”

 

 

“But Tony wouldn’t want to go out with me.”

Bucky shook his head quickly, two sharp motions each way, “wow, I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“But he hates me.”

“Yeah, _totally_ looks like hate to me. Like the way he fixed Nat’s phone to stop her impaling your hand with her fork. I mean, he might as well have called you a dancing monkey and walked off then and there.”

“That’s just-“

“Or the fact he continued to work on the essay, despite being ill.”

“Actually, about that-“

“Or,” Clint added-

“What the fuck!”

“Language Steve, honestly,” Natasha scolded, head popping up next to Clint’s, “what would your mother say?”

“She’d say ‘Why did you scale the side of a building to get to Bucky’s apartment?’”

Clint leaned in through the window, dropping his bag on Bucky’s floor. Natasha did the same. Both of them were still perched on a ledge outside.

“It looked like fun,” Clint said, “Stairs are so boring.”

“There’s an elevator!” “Oooh, let’s climb the elevator shaft next time.”

Natasha nodded, before climbing through the window with a level of grace that would be impossible for anyone else. She offered a hand to Clint, who grasped it tightly and used it to lever himself through the window. They both sat either side of Steve with matching looks of disappointment.

“As I was saying,” Clint started.

“Tony’s different around you, that’s all he’s saying.”

Clint nodded enthusiastically, “exactly! Remember what Bruce said, Tony was always quiet. But he opens up around you.”

“He does that around you too,” Steve protested.

Natasha shook her head, hair rippling in waves, “no he doesn’t. We played tennis with him in gym and he barely spoke. Even when it was just him and Darcy on the grass, Darcy did most of the talking.”

“But Darcy always does most of the talking, it doesn’t mean I’m special. Maybe he has a thing for Rhodey!”

“Rhodey said no homo,” Bucky interjected.

“Maybe Rhodey lied.”

Clint threw his hands in the air, “OH MY GOD, should I pull your head out your ass or leave it for Natasha?”

He looked at Natasha, who was on her phone.

“Yeah Darcy, still in denial. We’re at Bucky’s… great, see you in ten minutes,” she smiled at Steve, sweet and saccharine, sharp and tart, “you just wait.”

 

Tony knelt down on the wet grass, Jarvis’ hand on his shoulder. Weeds were growing in the soil. Tony pulled a few absently. It hadn’t been long enough for grass to start coming through yet.

“I’m sorry I never visited,” Tony said, voice soft.

He coughed, clearing his throat. He was determined not to start crying again. Jarvis sat down next to him blazer and trousers be damned, already dampened by the rain.

“I’m sorry I haven’t visited lately, my love.”

“The flowers you planted look nice though.”

Vibrant violets grew all around the base of the tombstone. The writing was still sharp and clear upon the black marble. _Here lies Ana Jarvis. Adored Friend, and beloved wife._ The dates of her birth and death were directly underneath, but words – half-hidden by flowers – were inscribed at the bottom of the marble stone. _Per aspera ad astra._ The writing had a shooting star underlining it.

“Do you know what those words mean?”

Tony nodded, rubbing his eyes hard, “she used to say them to me when she tucked me in. ‘Per aspera ad astra, don’t worry édesség, you’ll make it through,’ she’d always say.”

Jarvis wrapped an arm around Tony’s shoulders, “Through hardships-“

“- to the stars,” Tony finished, “I never found out what the other part meant.”

“édesség?” Jarvis smiled at the boy, resting his head on Tony’s hair, trying his hardest not to cry, “it means ‘Sweetie’.”

Tony pulled a face, scrunching up his nose and causing Jarvis to laugh.

“That’s why she always said it in Hungarian.”

“She loved your apple tortes.”

“They were her favourite, she used to tease me and say they were the only reason she was with me.”

“That’s not true at all,” Tony said indignantly. He hoped Jarvis didn’t believe that, “she loved you so much.”

“I loved her too, with all my heart.”

Tony leaned forward, stroking over her name engraved there. “I loved her too. She was like a mother to me.”

“Your mother tried.”

“I know,” Tony agreed, “but Howard wouldn’t let her mother me. I am a Stark, bones and blood of iron. Stark boys don’t need mothering. I think he considered Ana beneath him so he never addressed her about how she treated me.”

“She was always so proud of you, we both are. You are far more than what your father makes you out to be.”

Tony nodded, not trusting his voice to speak. He tucked himself into Jarvis’ side. They sat together, not moving for the world, mourning quietly together. Eventually, Jarvis stood.

“Let’s go home. I’ll make you an apple torte and I’m sure I have some vanilla ice-cream in the freezer.”

 

 

Darcy turned up at the door, folding a bright yellow umbrella down and leaving it dripping in the hallway. She rolled her eyes when she saw Steve. Pulling her glasses out of her purse, she pushed them onto the bridge of her nose.

“Let’s break this down objectively.”

She began, pulling out a large A2 sheet of paper and taping it to Bucky’s walls. There were colourful notations all across the page. Then she pulled out a laptop, setting up a slide show. She pulled out an extendable wand, and pointed the words written in red pen.

“When did you find the time to do all this?” Clint asked in wonder.

“Well I have an essay for political science due tomorrow so procrastination.”

Everyone nodded knowingly.

“First of all, let’s look at Tony’s dating history. While he has had dates-“ she pointed her wand at the laptop, scrolling through images of Tony at galas and high society functions looking very awkward next to young actresses, singers, and models- “he has never dated. Not for lack of options. On average he is asked out once every 9.2 days. This means per school year, excluding holidays and weekends, he is asked out approximately 20 times. Historically, all times he has been asked out it has been by girls, with the exception of one person. Wade Wilson asked him out at the beginning of this year. I spoke to him about the incident and he said, I quote, ‘I mean he didn’t exactly turn me down. He said he had too much work to think about dating anyone right now.’ All women who have asked him out have been very explicitly turned down.”

Steve leaned forward in his seat, not looking convinced, “maybe he felt awkward about male attention.”

“Maybe, or maybe he is closeted. Point 2-“ her wand struck the orange writing on the page with fervour- “his upbringing. From a political standpoint Howard Stark is actually rather conservative. While he has very openly supported equal rights for Women, and all people of colour, he has never once spoken about the LGBTQA+ communities, even though he has been directly addressed in regards to it.”

Darcy clicked the laptop and a news clip started playing. The reporter was a very serious looking man, holding a microphone and speaking directly into camera.

“Protests have turned violent here on the streets of New York. I’m here with Howard Stark, to speak about the violence-“

“-Why does he get to speak about it?” Clint asked.

“He’s powerful, rich, and white,” Natasha replied in a bored voice, “so we have to listen to his opinions.”

“Mr Stark, what are your thoughts on the protests?”

“It’s their right as an American.”

“Would you care to elaborate?”

“The first amendment states they are free to assemble peacefully. Unfortunately, in this case, that has not happened. I’m afraid I don’t know the details and so do not wish to speak further.”

“But your guns are being used against the protesters, how do you feel about that?”

“I design weapons to protect,” Howard replied coldly, “I can only hope they are being used to do so.”

The clip cut out there, Darcy back to standing front and centre.

“As shown, Howard Stark seemed very reluctant to speak in regards to LGBTQA+ whereas on previous occasions,” she clicked the laptop again, “he has been far more vocal.”

Howard Stark was standing amongst protesters, many of whom held signs saying ‘Black Lives Matter’.

“My weapons were designed to protect, this isn’t protection. This is fear. I am here today to say I openly condemn what is happening here.”

Darcy shut the laptop, waving the wand towards the green writing on the page.

“Then we have his school life. James told Clint, who then told me-“ Clint nodded in agreement- “that he has seen Tony be bullied. By several members of our grade. This could suggest that Tony may not want to be ‘out’ as it may put him at further risk.”

“He never mentioned it to us,” Steve said, looking to Bucky.

“He never mentioned to James either, he had to find out himself. Tony was getting beaten up in the locker room.”

“Oh fuck,” Bucky said, as Steve gasped into his hand.

“Exactly, you can see why he might not be comfortable with coming out right now. Furthermore,” the wand struck bright blue writing, “we have his work life. He has already stated he is too busy to date, and this might quite possibly be true. Not one of us has ever seen him not working unless a teacher has forced it on him.”

Steve raised his hand.

“Steve, you have a question.”

“I actually have seen him not working.” D

arcy nodded almost knowingly, everyone else smiling creepily at him, “further proof that you may be special to him.”

From the blue writing, two black arrows pointed to a box each. One box was indigo, the other a bright violet. Darcy struck the indigo box first.

“We are left with two options,” She spoke with authority, “the first is that he knows he is gay and doesn’t wish to come out. This may be an option. When I asked not even a little homo at the diner, he turned bright red and was biting his lip. He couldn’t stay still, shifting in his seat. His eyes actually kept darting to you, Steve.”

“Me!”

“Yes. He seems to care a lot about how you view him.”

Steve shook his head, “he really doesn’t. He told me it isn’t worth trying to change peoples’ opinions of him.”

Darcy whipped the wand around off the paper and pointed it threateningly at Steve, “that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. It means that at a stage he tried to change something so difficult to change and realised the futility in it.”

The room fell silent in her wake, Darcy panting as she caught her breath. She took a deep calming breath, pointing finally to the last purple box.

“We also have the possibility that Stark doesn’t realise his own feelings. In the past he has been home schooled, skipped ahead several grades, and overall hasn’t had a lot of social contact with people his own age. Due to attending galas, he learnt how to speak in a professional manner. And politicians, those who are head of a company, and those who are head of a governmental divisions rarely speak honestly. Tony probably learnt to lie before he learnt to tell the truth. He has grown up far faster than he should have, meaning he most likely had to skip past the age of self-discovery. He might not be out because he might not consider there to be an in. In conclusion,” she finally paused for breath, hands pressing the ends of the wand to shrink it back to its smallest size, “Anthony Edward Stark is an adorable gay cinnamon roll who loves Steve Rogers.”

Everyone nodded. Well except Steve.

“What sort of conclusion is that?!”

“The best kind,” Darcy beamed, wiping her brow and flopping down onto Bucky, “woops, forgot you were there. You should consider bedazzling your clothing, make your arms shiny or something.”

“For that,” Bucky lifted her cleanly off himself, Darcy yelping in surprise, “you can sit on the floor.”

He dropped her with a bark of a laugh. Darcy stood up, smoothed out the dress and sat on the arm of his armchair.

“You’re taking psychology at college, right doll?” Bucky asked.

She cuffed him lightly around the back of the head, “doll is sexist-“

Natasha nodded, giving Bucky a look that sent fear to his heart (as well as a strong desire to protect his genitals).

“Political Science, minor in psychology and sociology.”

“Can you make her stop staring at me like that?”

“Don’t worry Bucky, she’s actually wondering what to have for dinner,” Clint said, kissing her shoulder.

She ruffled his hair, “okay Mr Know-It-All, what should I have?”

“You have that cream that needs using. I could make you a carbonara.”

“Sounds good,” she hummed.

 

 

Tony walked through the towering doors silently, Jarvis standing firm at his back. Howard came storming out, crossing the foyer in five long strides. He gripped his son’s shoulders before crushing him in a hug.

“You stupid child, don’t you ever do that again.” Howard held Tony at arm’s length, “where have you been?”

Tony remained silent, staring at the floor. There was a small stain that darkened the wood. Howard shook him roughly.

“Sir, I wouldn’t-“

“Do not forget your place Jarvis,” Howard growled, “you took far too long in returning with me son. I ought to-“

“It was my fault,” Tony leapt in, “I was hungry,” he lied swiftly, “I asked him to grab me a cheeseburger on the way back.”

“Very well,” Howard declared imperiously, “you may go about your duties. I need to speak to my son.”

Jarvis seemed reluctant to go, dithering on the doorstep. Tony turned to him.

“Just go,” he mouthed, trying desperately to implore Jarvis to leave.

Jarvis nodded and walked up the stairs as slowly as he could. Howard dragged Tony by the collar of his sodden, baby blue sweater. He threw him into the drawing room, Tony catching himself on an antique side table, keeping himself upright.

“Where have you been?” Howard snarled in Tony’s face.

There was a fleck of saliva on his lips. Tony really wanted him to wipe it away, a swipe of his tongue would get rid of it. Howard raised his hand, about to strike. Tony looked up at him, eyebrows raised in an unasked question.

Slowly the hand lowered back down to Howard’s side, “Where have you been?” he grit out.

“Out with friends.”

“Friends? You don’t have friends,” Howard scoffed in derision.

Tony shrugged, “well I was out with people then.”

Howard laughed mockingly, “they don’t like you, you know. They’re just using you. I’ve told you. They want your – well _my_ – money. Or five minutes of fame when the paparazzo get their shot of you together.”

“Maybe I’m okay with being used,” Tony replied simply, turning to leave.

Howard grabbed his shoulders, nails slicing through bruised skin, “they are just deadbeats and future college dropouts. They’ll hold you back.”

“And maybe I’m okay with that too,” Tony said, trying to force himself to look Howard in the eyes. To make himself worthy of Ana’s and Jarvis’ support.

 

He didn’t see the back hand coming.

 

 

People don’t change.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again Google Translate was used to do any translations, except the Latin, which was just a phrase I found online and liked.  
> Per Aspera ad Astra - Through hardships to the stars.  
> édesség - Sweetie - Hungarian
> 
> I got a little upload happy, I hope you enjoy.


	9. Begrudging Teamwork

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, sorry about the no updates all week. My dad is visiting so finding time to write and upload is a task and a half.

Tony was half-under Rhodey’s car, swearing loudly until the part he needed came loose. Rhodey nudged his foot. Tony slid out, face smeared with oil, black streaks across his right cheek and one long line across his forehead.

“How’s it going?”

“Exhaust is done, but your brakes are shot.”

“Really?”

Tony grabbed a once blue towel off the bonnet, trying in vain to wipe his hands, “how have you not noticed?”

Rhodey shrugged, opening a bottle of water and passing it over to his mechanic slash best friend. Tony raised a hand slightly in thanks before effectively chugging the bottle.

“Mom wants you to come in now, breakfast is ready.”

"Do I still get blueberry pancakes a la Rhodey?” Tony grinned cheekily.

“Only the best,” Rhodey grabbed the towel, flicking it over his shoulder as he turned.

The tip of the towel hit Tony on the head. He tried to snatch the towel but Rhodey ran into the building. Tony gave chase, both of them thundering up the stairs.

“Boys,” Mrs Rhodes poked her head out the apartment, “calmly, please.”

They walked in more sedately, Tony still trying to grab the towel, Rhodey anticipating each move and ducking out the way.

“Anthony, you’re covered in engine grease,” Mrs Rhodes said, unable to hide the amusement in her voice.

“Am I?”

Tony looked into the back of a spoon. He tried to rub a spot off his nose, only succeeding in spreading it.

“Anthony, go use our shower, Jim find him some clothes to wear. You can’t wear those,” she added as Tony tried to protest, “you look like part of the engine yourself. Come on boys, hop to.”

 

 

It took twenty minutes to get all the grease off. Rhodey knocked on the door.

“Clothes are outside the door, ‘kay?”

Tony opened it a crack and grabbed the clothes. Dark grey jeans, black belt, long sleeved black vee necked top. The top barely hid the bruises on his chest. Tony rooted through his bag, pulling out Steve’s blue jumper. He meant to give it back today, but he needed it to hide the marks. His dad certainly hadn’t pulled any punches last night. He was amazed when Howard actually let him leave this morning. Alright, he did lie and say he was going to the library, but Howard still let him leave. He should be happy about that he supposed, but really? He felt doomed. Chewing on his nails, he walked out into the kitchen, padding barefoot along the laminate flooring.

“Order up,” Rhodey flipped a pancake in the air, Jeanette catching it on a plate.

She bit into her pancake with a pleased groan, “grab one while you can, his pancakes are the best.”

“Wait, what was that? I’m the best? C’mon, say it loud enough so everyone can hear.”

“He’s the best at pancakes and being a pain in my ass.”

“Language,” Mrs Rhodes scolded.

“Why thank you baby sister,” Rhodey grinned victorious.

Tony stood to the side, waiting for Mrs Rhodes to get her breakfast first. Rhodey piled Tony’s plate high with blueberry pancakes, before pouring in the batter for his own chocolate chip ones.

“Tuck in,” Mrs Rhodes urged.

And Tony did – they were delicious, “I will completely tune up your car for another pancake,” Tony bartered.

Rhodey added two chocolate chip pancakes to Tony’s plate, before bringing his own to the table, “don’t worry about it,” Rhodey ate quickly finishing off a pancake before Tony had time to think, “I think some parts need replacing.”

Tony shook his head, “not yet. Not when you have a good mechanic.”

“You’re that good?”

“I’m that good,” Tony agreed proudly, “I like working on cars, hobby of mine.”

 

 

After breakfast they still had a half hour before Rhodey had to take them both to school. Rhodey dragged Tony to his bedroom to show him ‘actual decent music, not that loud rock stuff’. Tony walked into the room cautiously. It felt like trespassing. Only Rhodey was inviting him in without a thought. Indie and punk-rock band posters covered the wall above his bed. Vinyl records were stacked haphazardly on top of his dresser, next to a record player. The furniture was all flat pack stuff from IKEA, all in the same shade of pine. Tony felt more at home here than in his own room. He walked up to the albums, flicking through them.

“You are a-cup-of-coffee-from-converted-warehouse-coffee-shop away from becoming a complete hipster,” Tony smirked, trying to find a record to listen to.

“You take that back.”

“Never,” Tony poked out his tongue.

Tony pulled out an album. The cover was curious. He turned it over in his hands. He pulled out the vinyl, placing the needle about halfway through the record. Rhodey hummed along with the music as he packed his textbooks into his bag. Still holding the record sleeve, he sat down, staring at it. Rhodey looked at him, surprised by his sudden silence. He leaned over his shoulder to see what he was looking at so intently.

“Oh that one, bit of a weird cover. Like why is he kissing himself? But I like the music.”

Tony stayed silent still.

Rhodey gave him a nudge, “hey man, you okay?”

He nodded, but not convincingly enough for Rhodey.

“What’s up?”

“I think he was going to kiss me,” Tony murmured, more to himself than to Rhodey.

Rhodey almost lost the words under the music, “who?”

He knew exactly who, he just wanted Tony to say it.

Tony blinked at him in surprise, “or maybe he wasn’t…”

“Okay, so what was he doing?”

“Well, he leaned in close-“

“-how close?”

“Do you want it in like inches?”

“Nah, show me.”

“What?” Tony startled, scooting back a little.

Rhodey rolled his eyes, “c’mon, we aren’t going to kiss. I just want to see what I’m dealing with here.”

Slowly Tony nodded and moved back closer. He parroted Steve, gripping Rhodey’s chin and turning Rhodey to face him. Then he leaned up and in, lips centimetres apart. The door to Rhodey’s bedroom slammed open, both of them frozen. Jeanette stood in the doorway, unholy smile on her face.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Rhodey stated, leaping away.

“Are you sure? ‘Cause it looks kinda gay.”

Tony flushed at the word, staring at his feet. Jeanette looked between her brother and Tony, who seemed to be hoping the floor would open up and swallow him. She strode into the room, and dropped down next to Tony.

“My brother is straight, he’s the very definition of a bromance. Besides, you can do better.”

Tony smiled wanly, still not taking his eyes off the floor.

“You know it’s okay, right? No one in this apartment will think any differently of you. And I’ll fight anyone outside this apartment that treats you as lesser for who you love, understand?”

She spoke so fiercely that Tony lifted his head, pale but looking less terrified.

“Don’t tell my dad,” he whispered.

“Don’t know him, don’t want to. Seems like an ass.”

Tony snorted, hand coming up to cover his laugh. Jeanette pulled him into a hug. Rhodey stood awkwardly by the door, head in his hands.

“Jeanette, why did you come in here?”

She looked up at him like she’d forgotten he was in the room, “Oh, mom says you’re going to be late.”

“Shit.”

Rhodey grabbed his bag and made to leave, Tony standing to chase after him. Rhodey stuck his head back around the door.

“And Jeanette?”

“Yah?”

“Knock in future, okay?”

She grinned that unholy grin again, “I will now I know there is the potential you’ll have a _special friend_ in here. Put a sock on the door or something.”

 

 

They managed to make it to school on time, just. Both of them dashed out the car, Rhodey sliding across the bonnet. They raced into the school building. But three people blocked them from continuing.

“Let us pass,” Rhodey demanded.

Justin Hammer smirked, “I don’t think I will. You see, we need to make sure you won’t go spreading _awful and untrue_ rumours about us. Ones that involve us injuring my best friend Tony.”

“I’ll do what I like, thanks,” Rhodey replied calmly, trying to walk past.

Tiberius Stone blocked him, Aldrich Killian circling behind them. They were blocked on both sides.

“Let us past,” Rhodey repeated, trying to tuck Tony out of harm’s way.

Killian grabbed Tony, twisting his arms up behind his back. Stone grabbed Rhodey and tried to shove him into a locker.

“You see, Tony. This is what happens when you get other people involved.”

He’d had enough. He stomped down hard, the heel of his foot slamming onto the top of Killian’s foot. He managed to twist out of Killian’s grip, punching him across the jaw.

“You know what,” Tony was breathing heavily, “I’d like one day where I don’t have people trying to hit me. That’s all. One-fucking-day.”

He stalked up to Justin, who took a few hasty steps back, until he was pressed against a locker. Tony swung. Justin whimpered, but the blow never came. When he opened his eyes, Tony had stopped his fist less than a centimetre from the bridge of his nose. He sank to the floor, whimpering and snivelling. Tony gave him a kick, getting him to move away. He turned on Stone. The man, completely oblivious to the 5’ 9” of unrepressed anger that had taken down his back-up, was still trying to shove Rhodey into the locker.

“Hands off my Rhodey,” Tony snarled.

Stone took a hand off Rhodey to shove Stark away. Tony grabbed his wrist, twisting, throwing Stone clean over his shoulder. He pinned Stone on the ground with his foot, twisting his right hand up and behind him.

“I could dislocate your arm-“ Stone whined in pain- “but I have to get to homeroom. Leave Rhodey alone.”

The three ran off quickly, cursing and yelling about getting back at Stark. Tony sunk to the floor, hands pressed to the cold. His knuckles had split, bleeding sluggishly.

“Wow,” Rhodey swallowed, trying to find words, none particularly forthcoming, “wow. I uh… I didn’t know you had that in you.”

Tony rested his head on his knees, shaking slightly with adrenaline that had nowhere left to go.

“Honestly,” Tony said, peering up from under his hair at Rhodey, “neither did I.”

“We, we uh… let’s get to class.”

Rhodey gripped Tony’s forearm, Tony mirroring, pulling the fighter to his feet.

 

 

The day flew by after such an excitable morning. Soon enough it was English. Tony found he couldn’t quite meet Steve’s eyes.

“What happened to your hand?” Steve asked, reaching across the desk.

From the moment Steve touched him, it felt like his body was on fire. But Steve was tutting as he turned Tony’s hand over, inspecting the swollen knuckles.

“I’m fine,” Tony snatched his hand back, trying not to look at the hurt on Steve’s face, “we need to finish this essay.”

He glanced across at Rhodey, and that girl Pepper, both of them mouthing something at him. He watched them with a frown, trying to read their lips.

“Low floor hit,” he thought they were trying to say.

That didn’t seem right. Pepper’s mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ before she turned to Rhodey whispering something. She then turned back to Tony, making a heart with her hands. Rhodey continued mouthing at him.

“Go for it,” suddenly dawned on him.

“WHAT?!” Tony screeched, pushing away from his desk, the chair scraping along the floor.

The class fell silent, everyone and their partner looking up at Tony. Even Coulson was looking at him with concern. The only two who didn’t look worried were – of course – Pepper and Rhodey, both were trying to hide their laughter behind copies of The Great Gatsby.

“Mr Stark, is everything okay?” Coulson asked mildly, pen poised in the air from where he was marking essays from another class.

“Yes, I- sorry. I didn’t- Sorry for interrupting.”

He then made the mistake of looking at the Black Widow. Natasha was the only person who wasn’t watching him. Her eyes had been on Rhodey and Pepper. She had a look of realisation before turning to Hawkeye, holding up two fingers and passing a note to Clint. He looked at Tony then nodded at her.

 

 

Class took far too long to end. Everyone else left the room, Tony was still packing the last of his books. They’d finished the essay, edited it. It was already to hand in. Tony thought he would feel happier about that. Now he wouldn’t have to spend his time in the library. But now he wouldn’t get to spend his time in the library _with Steve._ He glanced across the desks to Natasha’s. The note was still lying on top. He really shouldn’t read it. It would be an invasion of privacy. He almost made it out the door.

_Option 2. Only now, it’s option 1._

What the hell does that mean?

 

 

“You left that note on purpose,” Clint bumped into Natasha, who was smiling privately to herself.

“Would I.”

“Yes, without a thought.”

A girl, her copper hair flying behind her, came running towards them.

“’Scuse me,” Virginia Potts slid between them, and kept running.

Clint turned, watching her race down the hallway.

“Want to see what that’s about?”

 

 

“Found you,” she announced, finding Tony sat at a desk in the library.

He looked confused, “I wasn’t exactly hiding.”

“I know. Let’s be friends again.”

“I don’t… understand. We were never friends.”

Well that stung her pride a little.

“I don’t… I can’t have friends.”

Ah, that was it. His weird set of personal rules. She had almost forgotten about those.

“Why would you want to be friends with me?”

“Because I want to help you. Come with me.”

She didn’t actually give him a choice, frog-marching him down the hall. Rhodey soon joined her, the two of them chatting amiably like she wasn’t forcing Tony to places unknown. Clint and Natasha followed along behind, watching curiously as Virginia wove Tony between the other students.

 

 

Eventually they made it outside. Tony groaned at the sunlight. After the heavy rain the night before the sky was now bright and clear, a pale azure blue.

“There’s a reason I spend my lunch inside.”

“On a day like today? That’s a crime.”

But she sat him in the shade of a large oak tree, before cupping her hands to her mouth.

“BARNES, I FOUND HIM!”

Bucky turned away from his group of football friends, relief in his features. He ran over to Tony, pleading expression on his face.

“Tony, you have to help me.”

Panic immediately set in at those words, Tony trying to get to his feet to find a way to help his friend. But Pepper held a firm grasp on him, not allowing for movement.

“I completely failed,” Bucky moaned.

Tony relaxed. It was just a bad grade. He sighed in relief, almost laughing.

“Not funny,” and Bucky actually manage to sound offended, “I got an F.”

“So how can I help? Aren’t all grades final?”

“Not for me,” Bucky said smugly, “Ms Hansen is letting me retake. So please, please help me.”

“You want me to… tutor you?”

“Yes, yes, exactly!”

“Okaay, I can, I can do that. I can’t do after school though.”

“What about before school?” Rhodey asked, “we could do it around my house.”

“We?” Tony spun round to look at Rhodey, giving him an accusatory look, “I never agreed to we.”

“Please Tones, I could actually really use the help too.”

Tony looked up at Pepper, “I suppose you want to join too, considering you sought me out.”

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t have to teach me, I’ll help out with French.”

Tony dragged his hand down his face. A heavy sigh.

“Please,” Bucky begged.

“Fine,” Tony said reluctantly, “but you, Pepper, must get me a strong black coffee if I am to do this without complaint.”

Rhodey pulled one out from behind his back, and the noise Tony made could only be described as obscene. While Tony was distracted by coffee, she walked briskly over to the group of footballers still loitering close by.

“Steve, would you like to join my study group? Your friend James asked if he could join, so I thought I might extend the invitation to you as well.”

She was all innocent smiles, leading Steve over to the group. At the exact moment Tony, with his eyes closed, gave a long low groan as he finished the cup.

“That was so good.”

He opened his eyes to find Steve standing there in front of him, mouth open, looking like Christmas had come early. Tony flushed and gestured to the grass.

“I have been threatened into running a study group.”

 

 

Pepper walked around the tree until she was hidden from view.

“You can come down now.”

Clint dropped, knees bending before standing up straight and tall. Natasha swung down, like she was a part of cirque du solei.

“You knew we were up there.”

“I did.”

“How?” Natasha’s eyes glinted dangerously.

“Women’s intuition,”

Pepper smiled at Natasha, who regarded her coolly.

“Bullshit.”

Pepper didn’t flinch at the venom on Clint’s tongue.

“If you hurt either of them-“

Pepper held up a hand, silencing him.

“I have no intentions of doing such a thing. I am, or at least I was, one of the people Tony Stark was closest too, until about a year ago. Not that that says much. I used to think it was friendship, but I suppose a friendly rivalry might be more accurate. He never spoke about himself. He was always competing against me and Bruce Banner for the top spot in the class. Then he sort of gave up. I don’t know why, but I haven’t seen him smile since. At least until he started to hang around with your group of friends. Especially Steve. And well, I was chatting with James during English and it suddenly clicked-“

Clint opened his mouth but she cut him off ruthlessly, “James didn’t say a thing to me. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. Even if the genius can’t figure it out himself. It couldn’t hurt to give them a nudge.”

Natasha looked her up and down, “we do the nudging.”

Pepper raised her eyebrows carefully, one perfectly arched, “maybe I didn’t make myself clear enough. I’m not looking for another rivalry, friendly or otherwise. Tony Stark is my friend, even if he doesn’t consider me to be his. I like seeing my friends happy. Surely you understand?”

Clint tapped his foot irritably, scowling over Pepper’s shoulder.

“We need to be careful,” Natasha stated.

“Agreed.”

“I think it would be better to share our plans and collaborate.”

“Sounds fair.”

“You do not get to mess directly with Steve, you or Rhodey.”

“I-“ Pepper started, frowning in her confusion.

“She likes making Steve squirm,” Clint explained.

“Very well, understood. Are those all the terms you wish to set?”

Natasha looked across at Clint who gave her a slight nod.

“Yes.”

“Okay, then I have a few of my own. One, you do not question Tony about his home life. It makes him uncomfortable. It’s pointless questioning anyone else, he’s not a big sharer. Two, if Tony says he can’t do something, don’t make him do it. He has a good reason. He _always_ has a good reason if he can’t. If he says he won’t then by all means force him. But don’t push his can’ts.”

“Done,” Natasha offered her hand out to Pepper, “partners?”

Pepper shook it, both of their grips a shade of too firm.

“Partners.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The album Tony was looking at actually exists - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Total_(Sebastian_album)


	10. Scratching the Surface

Study group, Clint would never admit out loud, turned out to be a great idea. Everyone in the group ended up being in on every plan. Except the obvious exceptions. The plans had been kept small. The essays had all been handed in last week, and if it wasn't for Pepper making sure he attended every session – no one knew how she managed to get the boy to the places he needed to be, though the leading theory was witchcraft – Tony wouldn't see any of them, let alone Steve, outside of class time. So the plans had been kept small. Dragging him for coffee with the group at lunch, or cancelling morning Study Group and grabbing breakfast instead. But this time Natasha thought they needed to go big.

“Tones,” Rhodey was on the phone to the genius, everyone around him keeping silent, “Jeanette has the flu,” not wholly untrue, she was ill. With a cold, “we can’t do study group round mine this morning.”

“Oh,” Tony sounded disappointed.

It had only been a week of the study group but he actually kind of enjoyed it, seeing all his friends in the morning, hanging out at lunch.

“Yeah, but Steve said we can use his place,” Rhodey tried to keep his tone light.

Natasha slapped her hand over Clint’s mouth to stop him laughing.

“I’ve texted you the address, see you there.”

 

 

Tony looked on his phone. He had the right address. But Rhodey wasn’t picking up his texts and Tony hated talking over the phone. He pressed the buzzer for Steve’s apartment.

“Hello?”

“You sound remarkably chipper,” Tony groaned, “let me up, I need coffee.”

“Tony? What are you- Why are you here?”

Tony paused, his hand on the door handle. He looked at the text again. It was definitely today they moved it.

“Have you looked at your phone? Rhodey said he texted you.”

He could hear Steve fumbling about. A clatter, too close to the receiver, and a thoughtful hum.

“Hmm no, nothing from Rhodey. But one from Natasha.”

“What’s it say?”

More fumbling, Tony could hear the rustle of fabric right in his ear.

“Study group is cancelled.”

“Rhodey said it was at yours today.”

“Nice of him to tell me,” Steve muttered, “what did the others say?”

“I only have yours and Rhodey’s number. Look, can I just come up?” Tony asked irritably, trying to call Rhodey again.

“What? Yeah sure,” Steve answered distractedly, the door buzzing to allow Tony access.

 

 

Steve opened the door. And god he wasn’t making it easy to discard these _feelings_. Steve was closing the fly to a pair of dark blue jeans, hands fumbling on the zip. His chest was bare and Tony was having to stick his hands in his back pockets to stop him from reaching out to touch. No way that those abs were real. He had a towel wrapped around his neck, and water was still dripping from his hair.

“Sorry, I was in the- Tony, what’s that?”

“What’s what, what?” Tony asked in confusion, still staring agog at the abs and the pecs and wow, now his sexuality was awakened, it was like it had downed all the caffeine the world had.

Steve gripped his chin, turning Tony’s head into the light. There was a faint mark, a shadow where a shadow shouldn’t be. Steve swiped at the mark, smudging it a little. He pulled his hand away, finding it a different colour than before.

“Oh shit,” Tony thought, “maybe now wasn’t the time for those thoughts.”

Tony had his eyes closed, entire body tense. Awaiting his judgement.

“Is this make-up?”

Tony nodded slowly, still not opening his eyes.

“Why are you-“

Some realisations are slow. But this, this was like a gun to the head, a knife to the throat. He took hold of Tony’s hand and pulled him into the bathroom. Picking up the cream wash cloth, he swiped gently across Tony’s cheekbone. Shades of purple bloomed underneath the cream and yellow foundation.

“That wasn’t there yesterday, was it?”

He’d been sticking close to Tony, after he was told by Clint who was told by Natasha who was told by Darcy who was told by Rhodey, that Hammer, Stone, and Killian were the ones bullying Tony. He never wanted to leave Tony alone, never give them an opening to attack. And he didn’t yesterday. He had met Rhodey and Tony from the car, between them all Tony didn’t have a single lesson alone and they always chose to meet up outside his class. He had even stayed with Tony until Jarvis picked him up. There was no opportunity to pick on Tony.

“Tony, who hit you?”

“No one, Steve.”

“I don’t believe you,” he pushed Tony to sit on the edge of the bathtub, kneeling in front of him.

In the bright bathroom lights, Tony’s skin looked washed out. Although Steve had to admit that Tony was definitely good at applying make-up. Clearly done with a practised hand. Although that only made him more concerned. And truth be told, a little frantic.

“I told you. No one hit me. I was clumsy, tripped into one of Dad’s projects. Steel to the face isn’t often recommended if you are aiming for flawless skin.”

But again, Steve couldn’t believe him. He was no Natasha, but he could tell that this was a lie. The averted eyes, the fact he was bouncing his leg. But the nail in this particular coffin was the fact Tony hadn’t once let go of Steve’s hand since he’d taken it, holding onto Steve’s fingers in a loose clasp as his index finger tapped against Steve’s palm.

“Whatever’s happening, you can tell me.”

Tony’s hand was shaking in his, his chest heaving as his breathing turned ragged.

“I can’t- I’m- I can’t to you- I-“

“Hey,” Steve said softly, “you don’t _have_ to. I just, I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Tony nodded, still trying to gasp in air that felt far too freely available. Eventually he fell against Steve’s chest, head down, and eyes staring emptily at the fuzzy bath mat beneath his feet.

“I get you don’t want to talk about it, but I need to know. Are you in danger?”

Tony was so quiet. Steve could only hear the frenetic thudding of his own heart against his ribcage. Tony continued tapping against his palm, the only sign that he hadn’t passed out against him.

“Honestly, Steve… I don’t know.”

Steve hugged Tony tightly with one arm, not wanting to make Tony give up his hold on Steve’s left hand. They sat like that in silence for ten minutes, Steve on one knee in front of Tony, Tony barely remaining perched on the edge of the bathtub, almost entirely held up by Steve. Tony was the first to pull away.

“Sorry about that,” he said with a brittle smile.

Steve watched as that smile became a mask and the mask became stone. Tony transformed before his eyes. It was frightening. Expressive eyes closed off, he stood tall like his spine had been replaced by a steel rod. His hands were tucked neatly against his side, though his fingers flexed into the material of his slacks. Discomfort found in every motion.

“You don’t have to do that. You don’t have to fake being fine.”

Tony’s shoulders sagged, “I don’t know what else to try anymore,” he smiled shakily, hand coming up pull slightly on his hair, “I’m so tired.”

“I know what we could do,” Steve declared, pulling a t-shirt on over his head, “let’s take a day.”

“Huh?”

“A break from the rest of the world. From school and family, hell even our friends can be a bit much. You work constantly. Let’s go have fun.”

Steve offered his hand to Tony. He regarded it cautiously, waiting for someone to pull the rug from under him.

“I have to be at school by 4 for Jarvis to pick me up.”

“I promise that you’ll be back by 4,” Steve swapped the open hand for his pinkie.

Tony hooked his little finger around and they shook once.

“Okay, so how do you take a day?”

 

 

He couldn’t wipe the grin from his face. He tried to stifle it but found nothing works. Taking Tony to the zoo had been a massive win. While they stood in line to get tickets, Tony turned to him. He was blinking rapidly, and swallowing hard.

“I’ve actually… never been to the zoo. They, uh, the animals,” Tony stared at his feet as the queue shuffled forward, “the animals are kept in cages, right?”

It was such a strange question, almost causing Steve to laugh, until he saw the deadly serious look in Tony’s eye.

“Yeah, all in cages or enclosures. No public access.”

Tony still looked uneasy, until they passed the gates. Then it was like he turned into a completely different person all over again. He grabbed Steve’s hand, running between exhibits with childish glee. He would lean over the rails as far as he could manage, trying to touch the sea lions, or press his nose to the glass to watch the penguins. Everywhere he went, he would pull Steve along, constantly checking behind him to make sure Steve was still there.

“Tony,” Steve panted, “can we stop a moment?”

Tony slowed his run down to a walk, “let’s get lunch.”

They walked together hand in hand until they found a kiosk.

 

 

Bucky was bored. No Steve in class today. He sighed for what felt like the fiftieth time. No Tony either. The entire group was gathered in the cafeteria, excitably discussing where the two could be.

“My money’s on fucking,” Clint said, snatching a bite of lasagne of his fork.

“Clint, keep your voice down.”

“Only if you address me properly.”

Natasha sighed, “ _Hawkeye_ -“

“Damn straight.”

“-please keep your voice down.”

“Okay, but I’m still going with screwing each other’s brains out.”

Pepper waved a salad speared fork, “no, that would be far too fast for Tony.”

Rhodey nodded in agreement, “I don’t think he even realised that what he was feeling was a crush until two days ago.”

“So not doing the horizontal mambo,” Darcy crunched her chips, “what could they be doing?”

“Honestly, my bet is Tony is studying or working,” Rhodey said, glancing at his phone.

“So tutoring Steve then,” Pepper agreed.

“Actually,” Clint thought for a moment, “isn’t there the possibility they aren’t together right now?”

“Unlikely,” Natasha nodded at Pepper, “Tony texted Rhodey once he arrived at Steve’s. He wasn’t certain he was at the right place. So we know he at least made it to Steve’s.”

“Neither’s likely to play hookie without good reason,” Bucky said without looking up from his phone.

“You know a watched phone never rings,” Darcy said leaning against him.

But right at that moment, Bucky’s phone buzzed.

“Incoming text from Steve,” Bucky shushed the table so he could read it aloud.

“So he says ‘Jesus Buck, I’m fine’,” Bucky rolled his eyes, “he doesn’t show up at school and doesn’t answer his phone, but no, I’m _totally_ overreacting.”

“Keep reading,” Darcy urged, pressing into Bucky’s side.

“Fine, ‘I’m at the zoo-“

“The zoo?” Rhodey looked confused, “was there a field trip we missed the sign up for?”

“Nah, he says he’s with Tony.”

“Oooh, like a date?” Pepper smiled, resting her chin in her palm.

“Most likely, though I don’t think either of them would define it as such,” Natasha was texting on her phone, “okay, who fancies a little excursion to Central Park Zoo?”

“You mean stalk them?” Rhodey frowned at her.

She considered for a moment, “stalking is such an ugly word. I prefer mediation of unknowing subjects.”

Bucky laughed as his phone buzzed again, “I think they’ll be just fine without our help.”

He flipped the phone around, showing a picture Steve had sent through on Whatsapp.

“Aww, cute. He should totally make that his phone’s background.”

The picture had Steve holding the phone up, his other arm was across Tony’s shoulders. Steve was cross-eyed, sticking his bottom teeth out. Tony had managed to roll his eyes so far back that mostly white was showing, while touching the tip of his tongue to his nose. The phone buzzed again, another image popping up.

“Okay, ignore what I said,” Darcy snatched the phone from Bucky, “ _that_ should be his lock screen.”

Steve had a soft-serve ice cream in one hand and trying covering a smile with the other, eyes crinkled. He was leaning his chin on Tony’s shoulder to get into the picture. Tony, holding the phone up, had gone cross-eyed, trying to lick a dollop of soft-serve ice cream off the tip of his nose. The accompanying caption only had one word. ‘ _Woops.’_

“They’ll be fine.”

 

 

4pm was approaching too quickly, for Tony’s liking. They had left the zoo at 3pm, slowly ambling back, hands still linked and swinging their arms back and forth. Tony chattered away, a stuffed toy turtle tucked under his arm. Steve had taken his sketchbook with him and Tony was begging and pleading to see some of the draft versions. Steve held the book above his head, laughing as Tony tried to jump up and grab it while not dropping the turtle.

“Can’t reach,” Steve sing-songed.

“Haha, I’m short, now let me _see_.”

“Nope.” Tony pouted, “just one of them.”

“Maybe once it’s finished.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

As they approached the school, their hands dropped back to their individual sides. Most people had left already but there were a few stragglers, those finishing after school clubs and studying late in the library.

“Thanks Steve, I actually had a really good time,” Tony laughed, scratching the back of his head.

“I enjoyed myself too. We should do it again sometime.”

Tony bit his lip, “I’d love to, but… I’m probably already in trouble for not doing any work today.”

“Oh,” Steve didn’t really know how to reply, “I’m sorry if I got you in trouble.”

Tony stopped dead, flapping his hands in front of him like he was trying to magic the words back, “oh no, it wasn’t you, it wouldn’t be _your_ fault. I wouldn’t have done much anyway. Bad day for that.”

He was certain Tony was lying to spare him guilt. But he let him. They both fell silent, neither wanting to quite call it a day yet.

“There’s a pep rally tomorrow night…”

“Huh, I thought those only happened in movies.”

“There’ll be fireworks.”

Tony was staring at Steve’s hands, his own feeling cold, “I’ve never seen fireworks.”

“What? How?”

“Work.”

“Right.”

They fell back into silence. Tony tried to build up the courage to take hold of Steve’s hand again. It seemed so easy earlier, dragging him all over the place. Why was it so difficult now?

“If you, if you want, you could go? With me? Go _together_ , I mean?”

Tony was flabbergasted. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say, words racing around his mind. Together? Like with him? Like _with_ or with Steve? Was it a date? Would it be presumptuous to think it was a date? Pep rallies were actual things? He honestly thought they only existed in movies? Maybe Steve was pulling his leg? Maybe this was all a really elaborate rouse that Rhodey and Bucky and everyone were in on?

“- I mean if you don’t want to that’s fine. You probably have better things to do.”

“Wait, what? Yes! I mean, no! I mean, ask me again,” Tony demanded.

He’d risk it being a bad joke if there was even a miniscule percent chance it wasn’t. Steve grinned brilliantly. Tony thought his smile could but the sun to shame and make the stars jealous.

“Tony, would you like to go to the pep rally with me tomorrow night?”

Jarvis pulled up as Tony opened his mouth. Dammit, he really didn’t want an audience for this. But the butterflies in his stomach gave him a brief reprieve.

“I’d love to.”

Steve’s smile only got wider. He took both of Tony’s hands, leaning down to kiss Tony on the cheek.

“Tomorrow,” he promised, before pulling a face, “although we have school first.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” and it wasn’t meant as a question, but it certainly sounded like one.

Steve nodded, and Tony forced himself to pull away.

 

 

He slid into the car.

“Thanks for waiting, Jay.”

“It was my pleasure, sir.”

Tony’s eyes shot to the rear view mirror when he heard the mirth in his voice, finding the Butler was watching him fondly.

“Oh shut up, Jay,” Tony hugged the turtle to his chest, smiling into the fabric.

“I wouldn’t say a word sir,” the butler laughed.

They drove off, getting stuck as rush hour traffic hit. Tony felt like he was floating on a cloud.

“Do you think he likes me?”

“From what I saw of the young man, I would say so.”

“No, but like, do you think he actually _likes_ me?”

The butler snickered quietly, trying to regain composure, “my answer would remain the same sir.”

Tony held the turtle above his head, turning it this way and that, wiggling it so its flippers flapped.

“Oh and sir, your father was called away on business. He’s leaving tonight at seven and won’t be home until tomorrow evening.”

Brilliant, he had time to catch up on work. And a night to heal. And it would be just him and Jarvis and the other house staff. _And_ he might even get to go to the pep rally without having to sneak out the mansion. This day could not get more perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of fluff, I hope you enjoyed :) Another chapter by no later than next Wednesday


	11. Suspicions and Verification

He may have pulled another all-nighter. It had been a three days since his last, so he was probably due one anyway. He was on, what, like twelve hours sleep over the last seven days. That had to be some kind of high score for him. New personal best. But he was still tired. It was like once he let his body sleep, it craved more. Maybe he could catch some z’s in English. Coulson always let him. He stretched out his fingers across the keyboard. It was only coding for a software update but Howard had ruined all functionality before he handed it over to Tony. Why Howard bothered, Tony stopped asking himself. He assumed it was so he still had claim to the work, that Tony was only _helping_ him. He looked at his phone. Five-thirty. He should go meet Rhodey at the park. It would probably be quicker to go straight to Rhodey’s house, but he liked the walk. Out of habit, he still climbed out the window. Even if he didn’t need to, his Dad probably stuck in some Californian airport. Although he was worried. Last he heard, his mom was out there. He hoped he wasn’t going to see her. And once that thought came into his head, he couldn’t shake it. Despite the early hour, and the fact it would be even earlier if his mom was in their Malibu house, he pulled out his phone. With every ring, he felt his fear mount, piling on and on. He was stopped short of catching a plane straight to California when she finally picked up on the fifth ring.

“Oh,” his mom yawned, “Tesoro, what’s wrong?” and then she asked again, much more sharply, demanding the truth out of him, “Anthony, what happened? Are you okay? Where are you?”

Tony heaved a sigh of relief, letting the questions wash over him. Either she wasn’t in the house at the moment, or she wasn’t in Malibu at the moment. Both options worked.

“Mimmo, parlarmi? Are you okay?” her voice was high and desperate, panic in every syllable.

“Mamma, va tutto bene. Honest.”

“Merda! You scared me. But it’s five in the morning in New York, why are you calling me so early, Topolino?”

Tony tapped his fingers on the phone, to the rhythm of a tune that he pulled up from the dregs of his memory, “Mamma, Dad is heading towards California.”

“Figurati, topolino,” she said breezily, unafraid and calm, her fearlessness calming Tony, “I’ll be okay. I’m leaving in five hours for Paris.”

“France?” Tony asked excitedly.

His mother always brought him a souvenir from her travels. He had a Mardi Gras mask from Rio de Janeiro, Japanese Charms from the Shinto temples (he had one for work, one for love, and one for fulfilled dreams, all hidden in his desk drawer), and German Music Box. But his favourites were from France, his hoarde of small glass figures that he kept on a shelf above his bed. He was slowly growing quite a collection. A wolf with grey stained glass fur, eyes bright red. A cat with watchful green eyes, sitting serenely. A grizzly bear, standing on its hind legs. A bird – though he couldn’t tell which breed – perching on a branch, its wings spread out like it was about to take flight. A lioness roaring. A bluebird, looking so lifelike that he could almost hear the melodic tweets. A little mouse that was cleaning its face, tail curled delicately around its body. A glass turtle, with a dappled green shell.

“If only,” she grimaced, he could hear it in her tone, “Texas. I’ll be home soon, lo prometto.”

“Okay Mamma, I’ll see you soon?”

“Of course, and Tony?”

“Yeah Mom?”

“Tu sei a posto, giusto?”

“Si Mamma.”

“I’ll call you later, and I’m sorry I have to leave you there.”

The ‘with _him’_ goes unspoken.

“It’s okay Mom, I understand.”

“With the media and everything-“

“Something would look out of place if you didn’t go, and then they’d start focussing on me and dad. I don’t want that kind of attention. No one would treat me the same. I’d never have a quiet life.”

“I’m sorry, Mimmo.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. It’s my fault, I should be better.”

“Stay safe, call me if you need anything, I’ll be home soon.”

They said their goodbyes and Tony hung up. His feet had automatically carried him to the park, where Rhodey was waiting.

“Hey man, you look like shit?”

 

 

“Another all-nighter?”

“I had to!”

Rhodey gave him a look, one Tony loathed because he felt like he had disappointed Rhodey, “it’s bad for you.”

“I’m fine. No harm done.”

Rhodey dropped the issue. He’d tried fighting Tony on this but nothing he said could convince the genius that he needed sleep. Not even pointing out the way he dragged his feet or swayed when he walked. Nothing he knew could stop Tony working. Even Steve could only make him stop for a few hours, and only when he was with him, doing something else. No one could make him sleep. But they arrived at Rhodey’s door, Mrs Rhodes making coffee for herself and Tony. Everyone slowly turned up, settling into their positions on the couch and at the dining table. Tony kept flitting between everyone, making sure they understood what they were studying, and getting Pepper to check through his French work.

“You’re mixing in Italian again,” Pepper scored through a word, correcting it in pencil above.

Tony groaned, “sorry, I was talking to my mom.”

“You’re Mom’s Italian?” Bucky asked, looking up from his Chemistry homework.

“You didn’t know?” Darcy queried.

“Not everyone stalks the Stark family,” Clint laughed, swivelling in his seat at the breakfast bar.

“I don’t stalk, I intensively research. And Maria Stark is Italian, from Tuscany. She moved to America when she was seventeen. Met Howard Stark at age twenty-two. He was thirty-three. She runs a designer label in Italy, using her maiden name Carbonell. All profits go towards her charity, the Maria Stark foundation. And Howard Stark is totally the best.”

Tony was sinking further and further down in his seat, hand coming up to cover his face. Natasha watched him for a moment, before meeting Pepper’s meaningful gaze.

“Darcy, stop.”

“But his family is so cool, Howard Stark built an entire empire single-handed by age 27. He’s got a monopoly on so many markets and is still expanding all over the world. Tony’s actually going to have a lot to manage when he takes over the company. And with all of Howard’s work, like, oh my God have you guys seen the new StarkPhone. So freakin’ cool right. And Tony’s got to take over after that. I mean, it’ll be like going on a talent show and finding out the person before you is Beyoncé. And the person after you is Lady Gaga. He’s kind of amazing.”

“Darcy, you really need to stop with the heart eyes. Now.”

Darcy finally stopped her sermon, looking in confusion around the room. Everyone was looking at Tony. But every single one of them had a different emotion on their face. Pepper’s eyes were surveying the genius anxiously. Steve was frozen next to him, hands hovering, unsure how to give the comfort his – he didn’t know what Tony was to him – his Tony needed. Clint was reaching for Natasha, squeezing her hand in his, while both of them honed their faces into blank masks. Rhodey was standing awkwardly by the fridge, frozen in his attempt to grab a bottle of water. And her eyes landed on Tony. He had his head down, shoulders heaving violently, hand to his mouth and not making a sound. Jeanette bounded in, hair pulled into bunches, unaware of the atmosphere.

“Jeanie,” Darcy called to her, as she barged her brother out of the fridge.

“’Sup?”

“What do you think of Howard Stark?”

Jeanette pondered for a moment, cracking her can of Coke open with a hiss. She slurped the fizz, then took a sip.

“Dick,” she replied succinctly before walking out the room.

Well that did it. Tony cracked. He started cackling loudly, hysterically, wiping tears from the corners of his dancing eyes. Trying to reign in his laughter, he took a deep breath, only to start giggling again.

“Uh, Tony? You okay man?” Clint asked, putting his hand on Tony’s shoulder.

Tony looked Clint in the eyes, trying to speak through his laughter, “my dad is Beyoncé,” he sniggered.

“Darcy,” Clint turned to look at the petite brunette, “I think you broke him.”

“Woops,” she shrugged, no longer worried since Tony wasn’t upset.

Rhodey knelt down next to Clint, looking at Tony, who was silently laughing now, trying in vain to draw breath.

“Wow, you really haven’t slept, have you?”

 

 

Eventually the time for school came, everyone piling into cars. Clint, Natasha, Pepper, and Darcy in Clint’s car, Rhodey, Bucky, Steve, and Tony in Rhodey’s. Tony was still grinning like a lunatic. Bucky was having a lot of fun, humming ‘Single Ladies’, and setting Tony off into giggles again. Steve kept trying to get them both to hush up so Rhodey could concentrate on driving. By the time they made it to school the entire car was singing ‘Crazy in Love’ at the top of their lungs. They tumbled out, Steve and Tony walking side by side. Like the clichéd bolt of lightning, Tony felt a jolt up his arm every time their fingers brushed. He could be allowed to enjoy this little thing, right? His Mom and Dad were continents apart, he had fulfilled all his work and social obligations. Please let him have today. Please let him have tonight.

“Tony, this way,” Clint called, waving him over from his car, “we’ve got gym.”

Damn. He gave a small mournful wave before running off to join Clint.

“C’mon, hanging out with us isn’t that bad,” Clint slung his arm around Tony’s shoulder, smirk on his face.

Tony ducked his head, avoiding the Hawk’s eyes, “sorry, sorry, I got distracted.”

Darcy was grinning from ear to ear, like the cat that got all the cream in the world. She opened her mouth to interrupt, but Natasha quickly intercepted.

“We don’t want Coach to be on our asses again.”

They all heard the order in those words, even as she dashed off, the group running after her.

 

 

“You two make a cute couple,” Bucky said, looking at the pictures on his phone.

Steve blushed, snatching the phone and deleting the pictures. He tossed it back to Bucky with a smug smirk.

“You know I’ve already sent those to Natasha, right?”

The smile fell, leaving a shocked and frankly scared look in Steve’s eyes. Bucky waved a hand over his eyes.

“Steve, you aren’t having flashbacks are you?”

Steve shook his head but mock-glared at Bucky, “good to know Natasha’s source for her pictures of me.”

Bucky placed a hand on his chest, pretending to be offended, “you think it was me? I’m hurt. But Sarah and Natasha get along famously,” he grinned wider than the Cheshire Cat.

“My Mom?”

“I know, it’s the ultimate betrayal. But off topic, how was your date?”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“Okay,” Bucky replied patiently, “how was your not-a-date?”

“It wasn’t really not-a-date either,” Steve grimaced at his own words.

“Oh come _on_ Stevie, it’s always one or the other.”

But Steve was blushing crimson, hiding his face in his hands. He spoke but the words were muffled by the barrier of his palms.

“Sorry,” Bucky said, cupping his right ear as he leaned towards Steve, “sorry, I didn’t quite get that.”

“I said-“ and then he broke into low mumbles.

“Seriously though, what are you saying?”

Steve exhaled slowly, gearing up to say something, “the date is tonight.”

“That’s great, you finally grew a pair.”

“Shut up, you sound like Clint.”

“You wound me so with your words.”

Steve laughed, “I’m sure you’ll get over it.”

 

 

Shit. He was meant to come in early when he had gym first thing. He could duck into the bathrooms, get changed there. Or dawdle and wait for the changing rooms to empty. Or say he forgot his kit. He might lose marks that way though.

“Man, hurry up. Don’t want detention again, right?”

Clint threw his gym kit at him. He tried changing quickly. Hoped everyone followed locker room etiquette; eyes down, mind your own damn business. Only Clint was never one for etiquette. Tony knew the moment he noticed. Because Clint always talked, would never shut up in fact. Walking, eating, and – according to Natasha – even while he slept. But he stopped talking now. Only for a minute. But a minute’s silence is long when you are awaiting words. And when they were spoken, they were spoken low and deadly.

“Who did this to you?”

His voice held such fury, such murderous intent.

“Who did this? Was it Hammer? Killian? Stone?”

“It wasn’t any of them,” Tony said softly, desperately.

He wouldn’t allow others to take the punishment for his weakness.

“Then who?”

Tony pulled up a humourless smile, darker and colder than the furthest reaches of space. It was one he used to face down his Father’s condescending business associates, it was a smile he gave Obi when he demanded another report or analysis of something that he’d done a thousand times, it was the smile he gave his father when he returned from a business trip. It was stone. It was logic. It was all the strength he had.

“You don’t need to concern yourself with it.”

A shiver ran down Clint’s spine at the change, “too late, I’m concerned.”

“There are people, not just myself, who would strongly advise you against that. It will only end up hurting you.”

His voice was robotic, movements’ mechanical. He left Clint and the locker room behind, walking tall and unassailable across the sports field. Clint stood numbly, as the locker door swung shut after him. He was alone. And all he could see were the bruises and scars that marked olive skin.

 

 

He must have been stood rooted to the spot for a while because someone called into the locker room.

“Girl on deck.”

Of course, no one would dare stop the red-head in her angry concern at why her boyfriend hadn’t left the locker room. They all fled pretty quickly. She stalked down the rows of lockers, and strode up to him. Placing her hand on his cheek, she forced him to meet his eyes. Not saying a word, she leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, a barely there brush of contact.

“Мой питомец ястреб.”

He slumped against her, resting his head on her shoulder. She took his weight with ease, slowly walking him backwards until she could push him into down, sitting on the wooden benches that were bolted to the floor down the centre of each row. Hushing him softly, she stroked his hair as he shook apart in her arms. He wasn’t crying, she was certain of that. Clint never cried. But he so easily shattered.

“What happened?”

He shook his head against her shoulder, pulling her closer, tighter, until it was almost painful. But she needed to find out what was causing him to hurt. To hurt those harming him if needed. No one would hurt the people she loved. Never again. So she pushed him away and waited for him to meet her eyes, as she knew he would. It took less time than expected. His eyes were clouded with concern and worst case scenarios. He looked through her, looked at her, until finally he saw her.

“Tasha, something bad is happening to Tony.”

Straight to it then. She had suspicions, nothing that could be defined as definite, but something was clinging to that boy, a shadow of oppression, a storm cloud of despair. It cloaked him as he walked, silenced him when he tried to talk, and struck him when he acted –as he saw – beyond himself.

“Nat, he had bruises. The skin- it was- it was purple. And- And black. He’s starting to look like a walking corpse. And I should have noticed sooner, but he has difficulty breathing a lot of the time, and there are days when he limps, and he will just disappear from school, and it can’t be-“

“-It can’t be Stone, Killian, or Hammer. We’ve got our networks tailing them.”

Clint nodded, gripping tightly on her hand, “and Steve and Rhodey have stuck to him like glue whenever they can.”

“So it’s happening outside of school.”

“Except I know Tony gets picked up by his butler every day, Steve says he waits with Tony on days he doesn’t have practice.”

“So either it happens after school when Steve has practice.”

Clint tilted his head slightly, his breath tickling Natasha’s neck, “it’s possible, they’d know he would be alone on those days.”

“Or,” Natasha said after a moment, “it’s happening where we can’t reach him… what did Tony say when you realised he saw the injuries?”

Clint paused, a slight adjustment of his mind set when he realised Natasha was developing a plan and he needed to get with it quickly, “that I shouldn’t concern myself and there are other people who would advise against getting involved.”

Natasha thought, sitting in silence. Like a metronome, she carded her fingers through strands of dirty blond hair. She remained calm, through force of need and will. Clint needed her to stay calm so she stayed calm. If she panicked now, she would be of no use.

“Who are these other people?”

Clint shrugged, once more hiding his face against her shoulder. She smelt faintly of vanilla; soft, light, and sweet.

“No, who are these other people?” Natasha asked, her features morphing into realisation, “who has been concerned before?”

Clint frowned. It felt like she was walking him to a conclusion and he had gotten lost along the way. Tony didn’t confide in anyone. He never really had any friends either. He was sort of close with Pepper and Bruce for a time until-

“Pepper and Bruce!”

“We need to speak to them.”

 

 

“I told you not to ask me about his home life.”

Natasha smiled sharply, filing her nails as she leant against the doorframe. Clint leaned on the other side, blocking Pepper from leaving the girls bathroom.

“Intimidation won’t work because I have nothing to tell you. He never spoke to _me_ about his home.”

“Ah,” Clint picked up on her tone, “but he spoke to _someone_. It might not have been you, but you know who he did speak to.”

“This is ridiculous. I don’t know anything about Tony Stark’s home life, or who he confides in. Howard Stark made it clear that he wasn’t allowed to discuss his home life.”

“What? Why?”

Pepper raised her eyebrows, looking at him in derision, “privacy, I would assume. Anyone at school could overhear and sell his story. Quick bucks for a high school students, and a story that would sell for the tabloids.”

“You are changing the subject,” Natasha’s smile was cut glass, smooth, but dangerous if handled wrong, “you know who Tony Stark confides in, or at least who he used to confide in.”

“No I don’t,” Pepper said, shoving them both out of her path, “and you are making me late for French. He only ever used to speak to Bruce and I, and Bruce told me he didn’t know what was going on with Tony either. We both assumed it was the bullying and tried to help him, until he cut us out. I can’t tell you more than that. Now, can I go to class? Actually, I don’t have time for your answer,” she snapped, turning and walking swiftly down the hallway, her heels cracking on the floor.

Clint watched her leave in annoyance, “Who wears heels to school?”

“More importantly, do you believe her?”

Clint nodded, “as much as I don’t like her, I don’t think she’s lying.”

“Same here. I don’t think she knows anything about Tony’s home life. But I think someone was lying to her.”

“Who?”

“Bruce.”

Clint scoffed, “him? He’s so… meek. He wouldn’t know anything.”

“Appearances can be deceptive, and deception is my favourite art form,” she spun on her heel, walking in the opposite direction Pepper had taken, “just follow my lead.”

“I always do.”

 

 

“Bruce,” Natasha called out breathlessly, “thank god I found you. Please help us.”

He regarded them both calmly, gaze lingering on Clint, a touch of disdain in his eyes.

“What happened?”

“I have psychology next and I can’t find anyone to help me.”

“What about him?”

Bruce gestured with his chin to Clint, who shrugged helplessly.

“We’re partners on the project. I can’t be the subject.”

“Please,” Natasha pleaded, putting maximum effort into the puppy-dog eyes, “It’ll be quick, we’ll be finished before the end of recess.”

Bruce sighed, “fine.”

“Great,” Natasha exclaimed jubilantly, “we can use this classroom.”

 

 

He was strapped to a chair. Why was he strapped to a chair?

“Urm, why am I strapped to a chair?”

“Authenticity,” Natasha answered as she ran through a checklist on her clipboard.

“Authenticity of what?”

“Interrogation techniques,” she replied, not looking up.

Bruce looked over at Clint, “oh, so he is going to interrogate me?”

Natasha smiled over at Bruce, sweet and innocent. She handed the clipboard over to Clint, who placed it on the desk behind him.

“Something like that.”

“Okay, good cop, bad cop?”

Bruce was shifting in his seat. Something about the way Natasha was looking at him was setting him on edge. He didn’t know if it was the predatory smile, or the fire that danced in her eyes, or the fact she seemed so relaxed. It seemed so natural to her, like this was something she did every recess.

“Oh no, Banner. Why would you think that?”

He looked at her disbelievingly, “there’s two of you, and you, frankly, are terrifying-“

“-Thank you-”

“-Not a compliment, and while he is by no means a good cop-“

“-Rude. Kinda rude, Banner-“

“-he’s downright cuddly compared to you.”

Natasha laughed shortly, circling around so she was behind Bruce. She ran her nails along his shoulder. Leaning down, she hissed in his ear, “what makes you think there’s a good cop?”

He glanced to Clint, who smirked at him as he crossed his arms over his chest. He shook his head slightly. Bruce started tugging at his restraints. He leaned away from Natasha, face set in a grim line.

“Poor interrogation techniques. Anything I say can be deemed as under duress. Dismissed case immediately. You’re going to fail the class.”

Natasha was silent. For ten seconds she regarded Bruce, seemingly lost in thought. Clint was leaning his hip against a desk, watching with an eerie calm. Clint suddenly caught Natasha’s eye and nodded. She retreated and he sat down opposite Bruce. He leaned across the table, arms resting on the wood as he met Banner’s eyes with cold resolve.

“You still think this is for a class?”

“That’s cute,” Natasha cooed from where she was leaning against the locked door.

Banner kept splitting his attention between them, trying to keep his emotions under lock and key.

“You could get arrested for this. Or worse, expelled.”

Natasha walked back over, feral grin on her face, “oh Brucie, your priorities are a little skewed. And you see, we don’t actually care about that-“

“-you’re psychotic, both of you-

“-well, yeah,” Clint agreed with a shrug, reclining back in his chair, “but we make it work for us,” he winked.

“Quit flirting,” Natasha smacked him round the back of the head, “we have work to do.”

“I was being the Good Cop.”

Bruce shook his head, it falling forwards as he laughed.

“I take it back. You’re idiots.”

“Maybe,” Natasha replied evenly, “but we are trying to protect a bigger idiot.”

She perched on the edge of the desk, body turned to face Bruce. Though her hand was resting over Clint’s on the desk.

“You see,” Clint began, “we have a friend. And we made a certain discovery about this friend.”

“Really!?” Bruce cried out in frustration, “this is about Tony!?”

Clint blinked, the only movement that registered his surprise, “Yes. We need to ask you about Tony.”

“You dragged me into this room under the pretence of helping with classwork for this? Well I hate to disappoint, especially after _so much work_ , but there isn’t anything I can tell you.”

Natasha tipped Bruce’s chair back dangerously, holding a sharpened compass to his throat.

“I’ll be honest Bruce, I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this. I’m not a fan of blood, it takes too long to clean out of this top.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” he pleaded, trying to raise his hands to cover his throat, fear mounting as he struggled against the leather belts being used to hold his hands down, “look, you don’t understand. I _can’t_ tell you. I am not _allowed_ to.”

Clint frowned, brow furrowing as he attempted to make sense of the words, “I would recommend explaining, since neither of us are in the mood for games.”

Bruce sighed, “I’m not allowed to say anything in regards to Tony or his family, as I was forced to sign an NDA a year or so ago. Anything I say about the Starks could be deemed as slander and defamation of character as I have no substantial proof to provide as evidence for my case,” Bruce recited with a monotone voice, like he’d been forced to learn the words, “if I keep spreading rumours, Howard Stark will proceed with legal action. This could result in being sued, jail time, and college applications being denied. As such it is probably in my best interests for the future to cut all ties to Anthony Edward Stark.”

“So you found something out, and the Starks’ team of lawyers got to you before you could get to them.”

“I’m not _saying_ that.”

“So it’s his family abusing him?”

“I’m _definitely_ not _saying_ it’s Howard Stark abusing his son in a physical, verbal, neglectful, or otherwise harmful manner. I’m not _saying_ that at all. I haven’t got a clue what you are basing these accusations on.”

Natasha nodded, “I won’t say a word if you don’t.”

She unclasped the belts holding Bruce down. He rubbed at his wrists with a look of mild annoyance.

“Be careful,” he warned, “I never cared what happened to me. But I cared what happened to him. And after Howard found out I knew, things got worse for Tony, and I couldn’t do anything to help without putting him in more danger. Tread carefully.”

“Understood,” Natasha nodded.

They all stood and turned to the door. And there, leaning against the doorframe of the now unlocked and open door, was one Mr Philip Coulson.

“What’s going on here?” he asked pleasantly, like he was commenting on the weather.

Bruce brushed off his trousers, “nothing sir, I was helping them with classwork.”

He raised his eyebrows just slightly at the words, smiling softly. His entire demeanour was relaxed. Suit smart and tie straight. He tutted slightly, a click of his tongue.

“I think we both know that’s not true.”

Natasha paced in front of him slowly, taking in every angle. Eventually she smiled just as serenely back.

“And what agency do you work for?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your concern, Miss Romanova.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Italian:-  
> Tesoro - Treasure  
> Mimmo – Baby (Tuscan Dialect – used as a term of affection for young children)  
> Parlarmi? – Speak to me?  
> Mamma, va tutto bene. – Mom, I’m fine.  
> Merda! – Shit  
> Topolino – Little Mouse  
> Figurati – Don’t worry about it.  
> Lo prometto. – I promise  
> Tu sei a posto, giusto? – You’re okay, right?  
> Si Mamma. – Yes Mom.
> 
> Russian:-  
> Мой питомец ястреб – My pet hawk.
> 
> As always, I have used Google Translate for the translations. If you have a more accurate translation please leave it in the comments below :)
> 
> Also sorry for the delay in posting, life got in the way :S posting more tomorrow (later today?)


	12. Pep Rallies and Fireworks

First of all, apologies for any spelling errors. I'm typing this on my phone.

Secondly, sorry I haven't uploaded in a while, or when I said I would. Life keeps getting in the way. 

Thirdly, I'm actually really struggling right now. For those that don't know, I suffer depression and anxiety, and I'm having a very bad spell. It's making me act like an arsehole to friends of mine. And I'm really tired of trying to find reasons to keep going with anything, let alone this story. I'm sorry, this feels so attention seeking. I'm so sorry. I know it's selfish. I'll try and keep writing, give you an ending, etc. I'm sorry, I'm so tired, I just want a break from everything, but I can't, I have bills to pay and housemates and friends to destroy relationships with. I'm so sorry. I'll do my best to write more soon hopefully, sorry.

Lots of love, 

Megan (aka SkywardGeek)

 

* * *

 

Left the original post in, to explain the comments below - but find the update after the next line

I would like to thank everyone for the support I received, you have no idea how much you all helped. I have about 4 or 5 unpublished fanfics I've been working on so I might work on finishing those too. More stories to come.

 

* * *

 

 

He hadn’t seen Clint since gym. Or Natasha come to think of it. The two of them disappearing on him could only mean trouble. He didn’t want to lose them too. He didn’t want them to go. But after Bruce… well if they followed in his footsteps they’d have to. To protect them. His father was ruthless. But it was fine with Natasha and Clint, Bucky and Steve, Rhodey and Darcy. They didn’t know anything about it, he was sure. He was careful. Hid the bruises. Steve had seen that one time, but hopefully he just thought it was the bullies. Rhodey had his suspicions after that time in the park. He needed to come up with story for that one. They’d be fine, he’d make sure they’re fine.

“Hey,” Steve slipped his arm around Tony’s shoulders, “you seem distracted. You okay?”

Tony mentally shook himself, making sure to smile up at Steve, “yeah, sorry. Just working on something.”

Steve frowned, arm coming down to wrap around Tony’s waist, “well take some time to sleep. You look tired.”

“Well gee, thanks.”

“You know what I mean,” Steve squeezed Tony’s hip as they walked to the car where Jarvis was waiting, “still okay to meet tonight?” Steve asked because he was an idiot who kept giving Tony a chance to say no.

“Yeah, I would lo-“ his phone chimed in his pocket, Tony immediately pulling it out- “I can’t,” he scowled at the phone, his expression sour, “I have to work.”

“You always have to work,” Steve commented, looking crestfallen as he removed his arm from Tony’s waist, “you should get out more.”

Tony instantly felt the loss of contact, whole body going cold. He kept forgetting around Steve. That this is the way it should be. He shouldn’t be warm around other people. It was so easy to forget that around Steve. So easy to forget around his friends.

“I always thought you were exaggerating the amount of work you had to do.”

“Why would I exaggerate that?”

“Well, you are a bit of a drama queen,” Steve laughed.

Tony placed his hand on his chest, clutching at his heart, “Moi? Excuuuuse you, I am no queen. I am an Empress, _thank you.”_

“Aaaaand you just proved my point.”

Tony sighed, “my sarcasm is lost on you.”

Steve slipped his hand into Tony’s, fingers intertwined, “not lost, just ignored. So you can’t come?”

Tony was caving. He knew he would cave, because Steve was batting those baby blues and he was weak. He had always been weak.

“I… I’ll need to take some of the work with me.”

Steve nodded, “that’s fine, just please come.”

 

He’d regret this. He knew he would. But he’d regret it later. This was now and he was enjoying every second. Steve was holding his hand, pulling him through the crowd. He seemed proud to have Tony with him, introducing him to quite possibly everyone he knew. Certainly everyone on the football team. They weaved through people, Steve clearly having a plan. They watched the cheerleaders go through their routine, waving and cheering as Darcy performed. After they finished, Steve lead him away, tugging insistently at his hand. Tony met Darcy’s eyes and she smiled knowingly at him. He didn’t like this, he didn’t like not knowing. He had to know.

“Where are we going?”

Damn, he didn’t mean to sound that scared. But Steve didn’t seem to hear it. So either he always sounded scared – not a good thought – or he sounded less scared than he, himself, heard. Steve took him around the back of a building where a ladder was leaning against a wall.

“Well, first time seeing fireworks, I figured you should have a decent seat.”

Tony climbed the ladder, Steve following close behind. Tony slipped on a rung, falling into the ladder. His arms shook with exertion, keeping himself pulled close against the metal. He closed his eyes, scrunched them up so he couldn’t look down. Well, until he felt a hand on the small of his back, and warmth on the back of his legs. He looked down and Steve was smiling, encouraging and angelic. Damn. He’d climb fucking mountains to keep seeing his smile. Was this what media referred to as ‘whipped’? He was pretty sure it was.

“Not far now.”

And Steve was right. Only seven more rungs. He could do this. He climbed up, until he reached the roof.

 

He was so high up, it felt like he was among the stars. Well, if he could actually see the stars. It was New York after all. But someone – and he suspected friendly assistance – had lit tea lights, bunched in groups of three all across the roof top. A red gingham blanket was laid out across the roof, pillows grouped at one end. A proper wicker picnic basket stood to the right of the pile of pillows.

“This is-“

“-Too much, I know, but I just thought that-“

“-it’s gorgeous. Why?”

Steve paused, shrugging at the question, “well I suppose from an aesthetic point of view, the candles to make it more scenic.”

Tony laughed, pulling Steve across the rooftop. He couldn’t stop smiling actually. He felt all light and warm, like someone had lit a lot of tea lights inside him, like he was a paper lantern about to float away.

“Not what I meant. Why do all this for me?” Tony gestured to everything with an encompassing sweep of his arm, “I mean I probably would have been impressed with a half a hotdog from that cart on Broadway.”

“If I’d known you were that easy I wouldn’t have worried,” Steve teased, pulling Tony to sit down with him.

“For that, I’m not putting out tonight,” Tony quipped.

“Guess we’ll have to figure out something else to do.”

Steve pulled the picnic basket next to them, pulling Tupperware and paper plates out, as well as a bottle of lemonade. Steve handed one of the Tupperware to Tony, before starting to open the others, placing them on the blanket in front of them. Tony opened the Tupperware. Perfect golden pastry, flaky lattice patterns, and gooey looking apple met him.

“I know it isn’t an apple torte, but it’s the best I could do.”

“It’s… it’s apple pie.”

Steve nodded, red colouring his cheeks and nose. Tony didn’t have anything to say. The pie was… well it wouldn’t look out of place in Gordon Ramsay’s kitchen. Tony would know, he’d been served by the man himself. Tony leaned over, his hand on Steve’s right cheek as he placed a kiss on his left.

“Thank you.”

 

The first firework was terrifying. Tony’s hand leapt onto Steve’s, clutching painfully until he realised the cause of the noise. After that, they both laid down on the roof, Tony tucked under Steve’s arm. Steve couldn’t help watching Tony with fascination. He honestly had never seen fireworks. Every bang made him start, every flash of gold or glimmer of red had him slack jawed, eyes wide in child-like joy as he stared at the shimmers of blue and the sparkles of silver. He rested his right arm over Steve, hand one his stomach. His left arm was pulled up between them, tucked against Tony’s ribs. After an hour of lying like this, Steve realised Tony’s breathing matched his own and his eyes kept fluttering closed. With a silent huff of a laugh, Steve pulled Tony closer, allowing Tony to use his arm as a pillow. Tony hummed happily, eyes sleepily looking up at Steve.

“If you need to sleep, that’s okay. I know you don’t sleep much.”

Well, apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Like a flicked switch, stubborn mode was suddenly activated.

“I’m not tired,” Tony argued, “sleep is for the weak.”

“I sleep, and I could probably bench press you.”

“That’d be hot,” Tony replied, propping himself up on his elbow.

Several fireworks exploded at once, Tony grabbing hold of Steve’s shirt, bunching it in his fist, clasped white-knuckled to his chest. Steve reached out, gently brushing down his arm. Tony settled after a second of consistent motion.

“Sorry,” he apologised to the floor, “sorry.”

“It’s alright, you aren’t used to them.”

“I don’t like loud noises.”

“Why’s that?”

“But it’s better when I’m not alone,” Tony kept going, oblivious to the fact Steve had spoken, “better when you’re here. I was scared, but you make it better. I was scared, but I’m not scared with you. Y’know what I mean?”

“I think I do,” Steve replied softly, carefully.

He hoped he wasn’t reading too much into it. Because he was falling hard and fast and he hoped Tony felt the same way, otherwise he’d crash and burn. The saying ‘only fools rush in’ seemed incredibly pertinent here. But he was wishing they’d be fools together. Steve leaned forward, Tony matching every movement. They were so close. And Steve seemed to have the worst timing for picking his moments. The Darth Vader theme sounded from Tony’s pocket. Tony pulled back, looking round wildly, eyes scanning the rooftops, looking for something, someone.

“It’s in your pocket,” Steve said helpfully.

“Yeah,” Tony replied, still looking around, “the timing, pretty sure he has spies. Somewhere, he must do.”

“Who has spies?”

“Nothing, no one, what?”

But he was still frantically looking at the rooftops, jumping to his feet and looking down the side of the building.

“Tony, what’s going on?” Steve rose to stand next to him.

Tony hissed and waved his hand, indicating for Steve to remain seated. Steve lowered himself back down, still crouched should he need to jump into action. The Vader theme had looped several times now. Until it stopped. Tony paused, hand resting in his pocket.

“Not tonight, he doesn’t get tonight.”

Tony’s fingers flew across his phone screen, typing out a fast message and sending. Steve crept up behind him, circling his arms around Tony’s waist and resting his chin on his shoulder.

“What’s going on, Tony?”

 

Tony froze. He didn’t want to lie. But he didn’t want the pity the truth would bring either. Was omission better or worse than a lie?

“Long story short, me and my dad don’t have the best relationship. He’s… well he can be heavy-handed. Understandably, I suppose, I have an entire empire to take over. And sometimes we clash. I can be stubborn, and I don’t try hard enough-“

“You never seem to stop trying,” Steve interjected, though Tony barrelled on.

“-my grades are sub-par-“

“You have the highest GPA in the school, nothing but perfect scores.”

“-I’m rude, disrespectful-“

“Well everyone can be, Bucky can be a right pain in my ass.”

“-basically I need to try harder.”

“You’re trying as hard as you can.”

Tony grimaced a little, playing with Steve’s hands as they rested on his stomach, “then, quite simply, I’m not good enough. Inherently and intrinsically.”

Tony turned his head, trying to look Steve in the eyes. And what he saw made him cower, shoulders rising up, body instinctually curling around itself for protection. Because what he saw was anger. Not just anger, it was burning fury. Steve was shaking with his rage, hands bunched into fists over Tony’s stomach.

“How!? How can you think that of yourself?!” He asked quietly, voice strung tightly, an elastic band about to snap.

Tony opened his mouth to reply, no words coming. His jaw flapped uselessly, mouthing around deserted thoughts. But Steve spun Tony in his arms, hugging him close. He was breathing heavily, the gusts blowing past Tony’s ear.

“How?” he whispered, his voice broken and sad.

Tony shrugged, “I don’t know. It’s who I am.”

Steve looked like he wanted to shake Tony, still so angry, still so sad, “I don’t know what you were like as a kid, but that’s definitely not who you are now. People change.”

Tony shook his head, “I don’t think they do. But if you believe it, I’ll try. Maybe I can change too.”

“You don’t need to change, the people who say you need to try harder do,” Steve said, so sure of himself.

Tony smiled disbelievingly but nodded all the same, “I feel like I almost believe you.”

Steve kissed him softly on the cheek, then on the nose, then peppering him in kisses all over, “I hope you’ll actually believe me soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. I didn't want to delete this chapter because the comments are so supportive. Thank you everyone who commented and left kudos, I cried so much over them - happy tears, don't worry :) I fell even more in love with the fanfic community, you are all so supportive and it really helped me.
> 
> I'll be honest, my situation has gotten worse, not better. I was let go from my job because my company was having financial issues. But I am oddly doing better because of it. I guess I like having something to fight against - either that of the three cans of Monster helped me. So yeah, updates will be intermittent as I have to go job hunting, which is not so fun. But I'm doing better so yay :)
> 
> Anyway, here's an update, there's another one written but it needs to go through editing.


	13. On The Big Screen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back baby!
> 
> If you haven't already read the updated chapter 12 go do that now.
> 
> Apologies for any spelling/grammar errors, I wrote this with caffeine induced shaking. I may or may not be addicted to energy drinks. Eh, there are worse things to be addicted to.

 

* * *

 

Okay, ignoring his father was a bad idea. Something he discovered upon returning home. There was something more to this. He got the beating. And it was painful. He doesn’t mean to trivialise it, but after so many years, there was only so much effort he could put into caring. But there was more this time. He was walking on thin ice. And he could feel it cracking apart beneath his feet. But he was used to the cold, so he was going to ask anyway.

“Dad, there’s a football match at school. I’d like to go and watch.”

Howard didn’t turn, didn’t look at him. He carried on reading his newspaper, tumbler of whiskey in his hand. The ice clinked against the glass gently as he swirled the amber liquid around. He took a sip, turning the page, paper crinkling.

“It’s the last one of year. The last one of high school. May I go?” he asked, “it would be excellent publicity,” he added.

Finally, Howard folded up his newspaper, placing it on the side table next to him. He gestured grandly, indicating for Tony to stand in front of him. Tony did so, arms clasped behind his back. Howard had his hands steepled in front of him, the tip of his fingers resting on the tip of his nose.

“Alright,” Howard answered imposingly, “you can go. On one condition.”

Tony was about to do a victory dance. He could go see Steve, Bucky, and Rhodey in their game, Darcy cheerleading, hang out with Clint and Natasha and Pepper. It would be so normal. He’d do anything for normal.

“What is the condition, sir?”

“You must complete all work I set for you, before the game starts.”

“Thank you dad.”

 

He worked all morning. Turning out diagrams and designs, spreadsheets and schematics, products and patents. He didn’t stop for any breaks, ignoring all distractions. And he did it. He handed it all over to Howard, a little unnerved by the smile there. Howard never smiled at him. Either something was very wrong, or something was very right. His instincts screamed everything about this was wrong. But even that wouldn’t stop him going.

 

Steve had agreed to meet him at the beginning of the game, but had to cancel at the last second. The coach had wanted to give them a pep talk and as captain of the team, Steve could hardly miss it. So Tony was standing alone. Justin Hammer and Tiberius Stone walked past, sniggering at him.

“OI FAG-“ Tony looked by reflex, so used to them addressing him in some demeaning way- “you’re going to love the half-time show.”

And for some reason this was hysterical. They continued walking, chuckling and throwing knowing grins back at Tony. He did his best to ignore them and looked for someone to sit with. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Clint since the locker room two days ago, or Natasha either actually. He hoped their disappearance had nothing to do with him. They were often mysteriously absent. For all Tony knew they could be super-secret spies. Or, more likely, they were skiving lessons to sleep in and do whatever couples normally do together. He eventually spotted Pepper in the crowd, trying to catch her eye. It barely took her a moment before she waved him over.

“Hey,” she greeted, brushing an air kiss to his cheek, “I didn’t think you would be able to come.”

“I’m hardly locked away,” Tony grinned.

“Yeah but, you know- you never come to social events.”

“I’ve never had a reason,” Tony raised his eyebrows, gesturing to the team huddle currently occurring on the pitch.

“Have you seen Natasha? I need to talk to her about something.”

She looked mildly irritated, nails tapping at the bleachers beneath her.

Tony shook his head and shrugged, “that’s the million dollar question; she and Clint have dropped off the face of the earth.”

 

“With all due respect sir, this is the third time you’ve called a meeting but you have yet to tell us what the fuck is going on!”

Coulson, not looking up from his paperwork on his desk, gestured for Clint to sit down. Bruce followed suit, but Natasha moved to leaned against the wall behind Coulson. She openly peered over his shoulder, Coulson making no effort to hide the papers.

“Miss Romanova, I would hardly keep top secret government records in this office. Within this school I am just an English teacher.”

She laughed softly, but Clint scowled darkly at them both, “you haven’t answered. Who are you?”

“Agent Phil Coulson, of SHIELD.”

“You say that like it means anything to me.”

“It does to me,” Natasha cut in, glaring at the back of Coulson’s head, “he’s been assigned to keep tabs on me-“ Coulson didn’t seem at all phased by the hostility in her voice- “but how are you involved in Tony’s case?”

Coulson sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he scrunched his eyes closed, “Miss Romanova, we are not assigned to watch you, we are assigned to protect you-“

“Why?” Bruce interrupted, eyes darting between the two of them, “why do you need to watch Natasha?”

Coulson turned to Natasha and waited. He was giving her the choice, if she wanted. Instead she pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest.

“A story for another time it would seem,” Coulson answered mildly, “and I got involved in Mr Stark’s case through a third party. A client, who shall remain anonymous, requested that Alias Investigations gather evidence of supposed abuse of Mr Anthony Stark. The PI knew I was working within close proximity to the child and requested that should I observe anything out of the ordinary, I send the information her way. Of course for a case such as this, where the defendant is such a high profile figure in society, Miss Jones – the PI – needed indisputable evidence.”

“So you’ve been spying on Tony?!” Clint accused, the scowl only deepening as the conversation continued, slumping down in his chair with his arms folded tightly over his chest.

“Yes,” Coulson agreed without hesitation, “and for good reason. The two of you,” he glanced at Natasha who shrugged, and at Clint, whose face seemed set like cement, “thought it best to attempt psychological torture on Bruce to gain the information you wanted. I fail to see how what I did was any worse.”

“What if the client is doing this for tabloids?” Bruce shot at him.

“I can assure you she isn’t.”

Natasha paused in her feigned examination of her nails, pretend boredom forgotten at that comment, “she?”

“She,” Phil confirmed, a look passing between them.

Natasha nodded, shooting a look to Clint. He in turn gave her a questioning look back. She shook her head. He sighed. She flicked hair out of her face. He nodded. Message received loud and clear. The client definitely had Tony’s interests at heart. A loud cheer sounded outside, then a sharp trill of a whistle blew.

“Game’s begun,” Bruce commented idly.

Everyone looked at him like he’d grown another head. They were all so wrapped up in the discussion, they had forgotten.

“The football game, it’s- oh never mind.”

“So,” Clint stood suddenly, circling around behind his chair. He gripped the back, white-knuckled, and sighed deeply, “we should share information at least. Isn’t that what teams do?”

Coulson looked surprised, Clint would have said pleasantly so. Bruce began fiddling with his hands in his lap, glancing nervously at the door. Natasha claimed the seat Clint vacated, his hands instantly moving to rest on her shoulders. She place her left hand over his right, fingers tightening around his. Silent support.

“Yes, I believe we should.”

Coulson pulled out an odd device. It looked like a navigational compass, but instead of N, S, E, and W, there were numbers that were constantly changing. Coulson clicked a button in the centre of the compass, freezing the numbers as they randomly came up. 0-5-0-2. Light suddenly shot up from it, producing a hologram. He swiped away irrelevant files with a practised hand, bringing up a folder entitled Level 10. When he clicked it, a light scanned the room.

“Access denied, three bodies in vicinity without access,” declared a distinctly mechanical voice.

“Override: Coulson, Philip J.”

“Override accepted, good afternoon Agent Coulson.”

Word documents splayed across the room, pictures projected onto the walls like a creepy collage. Bruce walked over to get a closer look, his hand pressed to the wall. It cast shadows onto the wall, an image of Tony, heavily bruised, sleeping on a bench. A longshot of Tony climbing out of his bedroom window. Bruce looked like he was a choked word away from crying. Clint punched a particularly graphic photo of Tony bleeding heavily, trying to dress his wounds one handed. Natasha had opened one of the word documents, reading through the observational notes of the PI.

“I’d say this is pretty conclusive evidence. Would we be able to proceed?” she asked, skimming over pages and pages of notes.

Coulson shook his head, “unfortunately no. Howard Stark has been caught in the act for a lot of crimes. Tax evasion, sexual harassment, drunk driving; you name it, he’s paid a team of high class lawyers to get him out of any charges. We need to catch him in the act, get multiple testimonies, and ideally have Tony testify.”

“I think we should speak to him about all of this. He needs to know about this,” Bruce said, still looking through picture after picture. He looked a little green around the edges. But he pulled his attention from the wall to Clint, who was currently rubbing at his bloody knuckles. Coulson pulled a small first aid kit out of his desk drawer and slid it across the desk. Bruce instantly reached for bandages and antiseptic spray to wrap Clint’s hand.

“Thanks Doc,” Clint teased before becoming serious once more, “How about we grab him after the game?”

“After the game,” they all echoed.

 

The game wasn’t quite what he imagined. But then again, he couldn’t really follow. He just cheered when everyone else did. The half time break was almost over, the cheerleaders finishing their routine. He was sat alone, Pepper having gone to ‘powder her nose’. He watched as the cheerleaders bounded around, full of peppiness. He could just make out Darcy, her pigtails bouncing. She waved a pom-pom at him when she spotted him. Suddenly the scoreboard blanked to a white screen. It fell into static before coming up with a kiss-cam-esque scene. Except it… well it made Tony feel a bit sick. There, on the biggest screen Tony had seen, was Steve. But it wasn’t just Steve. He was dipping some plain-looking brunette girl in a red blazer. Her tongue looked like it was jammed so far in Steve’s throat he would choke on it. It felt like every eye was on Tony, burning his skin. Judging. Logically, that couldn’t possibly be true, statistically improbable. But his humiliation was shown to the entire school. Probably recorded. He would never be allowed to forget this. The beauty of the modern age. Everything was recorded. Tony stood, appearing far calmer than he felt. He felt like his heart would beat right out of his chest. His mouth was so try it was like he was eating chalk. Head down, he walked swiftly away from the crowd. He quickly texted Jarvis, requesting immediate pick-up. He didn’t respond to the obligatory ‘what happened?’. He could explain in the car. He left the crowd, walking slowly to the student parking lot.

“Tony,” a familiar voice called out.

He spun on his heel, Darcy sprinting towards him. She hooked her arm in his, trying in vain to drag him back to the stadium.

“It probably not what you think,” she tried to reason.

“Her tongue was in his mouth, don’t try to argue CPR. The way he was holding her… that’s not something friends do.”

“But,” Darcy seemed to deflate, trying to come up with some rhyme or reason to defend Steve, “he likes you.”

Tony stopped in his tracks, arching an eyebrow. His smile was sardonic, twisted and bitter. There was something that was staying buried at the moment but he could feel it rearing its ugly head.

“Yeah he likes me. Likes me enough to let me know he thinks we should see other people.”

“But-“

“Save it Darce. It’s high school. This is what happens.”

She looked at him tentatively, pulling him to a low wall to sit on.

“You seem… really calm about this.”

“I guess I knew he was right, deep down all along.”

Darcy tilted her head questioningly, “who was right?”

“It’s nothing, let’s just say my dad had good advice that I should have listened to.”

“That boys are trouble? My dad gave me the same talk,” she sighed, swinging her feet so her heels bounced against the red bricks.

They sat together in silence for a few minutes.

“I thought you two were cute together,” Darcy commented, tilting her head back to look at the sky, “I thought he was a good guy. Turns out he’s just another fuckboy.”

Tony laughed, but the sound was tinged with sadness and bitterness, “I thought he would prove something. I guess I was asking too much.”

“What did you want proving?”

“That people can change. But people stay the same, over and over again.”

“People change,” Darcy turned to him, a deadly serious look on her face, “it’s hard to stay the same all the time. I mean look at yourself. You changed so much!”

“Maybe that wasn’t for the best,” Tony answered, clasping his hands in his lap and staring at the dead grass beneath his feet.

“Clint, Natasha, Bruce, Pepper, Rhodey, Bucky, _me_! We all like you for who you were _and_ who you are now,” she argued earnestly, “doesn’t that count for anything!”

“Honestly?”

“No, lie to me,” she rose to her feet, narrowing her eyes at him.

For all of her five foot three inches in height, she was actually rather terrifying like this. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her mad.

“Honestly, yes it counts, but at least I knew my place before. I knew where I stood with those around me. Now, I’m sort of fumbling.”

“ _Everyone_ is sort of fumbling.”

“Steve _certainly_ is,” Tony muttered, hands clenching in his lap.

“He-“ but she fell silent.

She couldn’t defend him. Not really. She resumed her seat next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. He leant against her. They stayed like that until a black Mercedes with blacked out windows pulled up.

“That’s my ride,” he gently eased her back into sitting position.

Her eyes were red, on the verge of tears.

“Why are you crying?” Tony asked, genuinely confused.

She glared at him and stubbornly wiped away the tears, “because I know you. You are going to stop hanging out with us.”

Tony shrugged, “probably. I don’t see the big deal. No more annoying, idiotic, pain-in-the-ass-“

“Stop!” she shouted fiercely, “Stop doing that. Stop putting yourself down like that.”

He smiled, but it was small and self-deprecating, “but it’s true,” he stood, brushing dirt from his jeans, “anyway, I’ve kept Jarvis waiting long enough.”

Darcy made to open her mouth again, trying to argue her case but Tony was already halfway to his car. He paused at the car door, turning back with a smile so fake it made Darcy’s cheeks hurt just looking at it.

“Can you do me one last favour? Tell Steve I break up with him.”

Darcy nodded stiffly, waving Tony goodbye. Once he was out of sight, she turned on her heel. She had a captain to kill.


	14. Feinting Fainting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - mentions of sexual assault, and while all cases of sexual assault are treated seriously by the author, the act went no further than kissing.

Darcy had been looking for Steve for twenty minutes since the game ended. She was becoming angrier and angrier by the second. Natasha, Clint, and Bruce found her stalking her way to the men’s locker room.

“Have you seen Tony?” Clint asked.

“Where’s Steve?” she questioned in synchronisation.

They both paused for a moment, before trying to repeat their questions, again at the same time.

“Look I just need to find Steve.”

“This is important, where’s Tony?”

She huffed an annoyed sigh, conceding for Natasha, “Tony went home, and that’s why I need to kill Steve.”

“What happened?” Natasha demanded.

Darcy resented the tone. They would have been at the game, they would have known.

“Don’t pretend, you must have seen what Steve did.”

“Actually, Darcy, we didn’t,” Bruce cast a nervous glance to Clint who took over.

“We had a meeting with Mr Coulson.”

Darcy calmed in increments, no longer shaking with hardly supressed rage.

“Steve cheated on Tony,” she finally explained, voice dripping with poison, “so Tony asked me to break-up with Steve for him. I intend to do far more than that.”

“Holy shit,” Clint commented, hand coming up to his mouth.

Darcy resumed her pacing in front of the men’s locker room. After 20 minutes, Steve came out, looking pale and shaken, bracketed by Bucky and Rhodey. Both of them were talking in hushed whispers. Their tones were soft. Wasn’t Rhodey mad at least?

“What the hell!” Darcy demanded.

“Not now Darcy,” Bucky shot her a look, begging her not to press whatever the issue was.

Darcy looked murderous. She stalked forward, raising her hand to slap Steve in the face. Except she paused, lowering the hand and frowning.

“You don’t look very happy for someone who just made out with a girl in front of an entire stadium. Keep this up and you’ll be the most popular guy in school,” she spoke low and dangerously, voice cold, “but I hope the sacrifice was worth it.”

“Darcy,” Steve tried, his voice cracking a little.

Natasha ushered them all into a classroom before anymore words could be spoken. She shut the door just as three people turned down the corridor.

 

The room was split into two groups, each resolutely staring at each other. Except Steve, he was sat on a desk, head in his hands. He looked like he was going to be sick.

“Well?” Darcy demanded, “was it worth it?”

Steve raised his head, entire body shaking. It would have been comical, except Natasha had the feeling something was direly wrong.

“Darcy stop for one second. Bucky, Rhodey, what happened?”

Bucky immediately launched into the story, “okay, so end of halftime, this random girl we’d never seen before comes up to Steve. She’s staggerin’ all over, and goes to faint. Steve caught her, stopped her crashing face first into a bench. But the minute she’s in his arms she’s like a leech, suckin’ on his face, more arms than an octopus. Steve’s tryin’ ta push her off, tryin’ not ta hurt her too, but then the camera is on him and he’s still tryin’ ta get her away but she won’t let go-“

Rhodey cut in, looking morbid, “long story short, Steve was sexually assaulted and it was shown to the entire school.”

“You wouldn’t lie to protect Steve,” Clint stated, circling the trio like they were particularly delicious prey, “well, you might Bucky, but you, Rhodey,” he pointed an accusing finger, pressing it into Rhodey’s chest, “you love Tony like a brother. You’d protect him as fiercely as you’d protect Jeanette. _You_ aren’t lying.”

Bucky and Rhodey nodded firmly, remaining by Steve’s side. Darcy placed a hand gently on Steve’s knee.

“I’m sorry Steve, I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. It’s just once I realised Tony saw-“

Steve’s head shot up, panic in his eyes, “Tony saw?”

Darcy nodded sadly. Everyone else exchanged looks.

“Well, shit,” Clint began frantically punching numbers into his phone. He dialled and waited, “fuck, straight to voicemail.”

“He said he’s going to avoid us now.”

“Yep,” Bruce answered, “but-“

“-that means-” Clint continued, their thoughts marrying up.

“-He’s going to be home-schooled again.”

“Well, we can’t let that happen then, can we?” Natasha smiled, pulling out her phone. She dialled, hearing the phone ring once, “Agent, I think we need a more direct approach.”

They couldn’t hear the other half of the conversation, but the person down the line seemed to agree with Natasha. Clint and Bruce both nodded solemnly to each other.

“Okay,” Bucky said, crossing his arms as he looked at the three of them, “what do you know that the rest of us don’t?”

 

The room was silent after their explanation. Everyone trying to digest their information.

“Tony had bruises…” Clint had explained.

“Yeah, the black eye,” Steve added quietly, “I thought it was the bullying. I thought I could help.”

Clint shook his head, “black eye? No, he had bruising on his- he had a black eye? When?” he demanded.

Steve dropped his head, fiddling with his hands, chipping at a nail. Darcy took both of his hands in hers, squeezing lightly.

“I should have realised, I should have done more.”

“Steve,” Darcy said, voice a lot calmer than it had been an hour ago, “it wasn’t your fault. Any of this.”

“She’s right,” Bruce agreed with a sour expression, “even if you had known earlier, you wouldn’t have gotten past the lawyers. Trust me, I tried.”

They fell into silence, the room still split in half, Darcy pacing back and forth in the front of the groups. Clint was perched lightly on a bookcase, Bruce sat on the teacher’s desk. Natasha was leaning against the door, lips turned down as she lost herself in thought.

“There must be something we can do,” Darcy cried out in frustration, running a hand along Bucky’s shoulders as she walked past him.

“Shush,” Natasha hissed, pressing her ear to the door.

The room fell silent, patiently waiting. Natasha waved to get Clint’s attention, before glancing at the ceiling. Clint climbed up, unlatching the air conditioning vent and crawling through. He poked his head back down, looking at Natasha for instructions. She pressed a finger to her lips and pointed at the door. He nodded, sliding through the vent.

 

It was dusty. He was so glad he didn’t have any allergies. He slid silently on his stomach. Why did he wear black? He reached the vent that looked out into the corridor. He could make out voices below. Three ones, at least. No four.

“Thanks Sasha-“ Justin Hammer, he was certain- “great work.”

He heard the pop of bubble-gum. He set his phone to record, keeping as still and silent as he could. They were out of shot, except for Sasha.

“That was disgusting, you owe me.”

“Oh come on, we’re family.”

Sasha walked into view, red blazer thrown over one arm. She flicked her hair off her shoulders.

“Just because you’re my brother, doesn’t mean kissing that fag was any less disgusting. Who knows where his mouth as been.”

“We’re being paid well for this-“ deep voice, Tiberius Stone probably- “you’ll get your cut.”

“Fifty percent,” Sasha demanded imperiously, “you didn’t have to kiss him after all.”

“What, no!”

And that was Killian.

“With what Stark is paying you, you can afford 50%.”

Holy shit. Clint was frozen in the vent. Stuck listening to everything. If only they actually used each other’s names.

“You can have 25%.”

“Way to low-ball. 45. Or I’ll make you kiss Captain Faggot.”

“30.”

“And for that I’m not going lower than 55.”

“You’re negotiating the wrong way,” Killian drawled, bored with the proceedings, “just give her my share. I just hate the Stark kid. His Dad has the right idea. I’d rather get a decent college recommendation letter from him.”

A girly squeal, Sasha running forward and throwing her arms around someone. She dragged him by the hand, Killian unknowingly forced into the camera’s view.

“Thank you,” she turned back, smarmy grin on her face, “at least Aldrich knows how to look after a lady.”

“I know how to treat a woman right,” Stone moved into camera view, but only his back was showing. He was leering at Sasha, Clint felt sick just watching, but Sasha pushed him away easily. She sauntered past breezily. She offered her hand to Justin.

“Pleasure doing business with you brother.”

He had everything his needed. He opened the vent and dropped down, leaving his phone hidden above them.

“Today’s your lucky day, gentlemen, lady. You’ve won a one way trip to prison.”

Sasha walked up to him, hips swaying, “I don’t think we’ve done anything wrong.”

“Well, you see, you conducted a planned sexual assault on this school’s best football player. And for once, the bias towards sports stars is in the favour of the victim.”

She pursed her lips but refused to back down. The three men surround Clint, backs towards the classroom where everyone was waiting. Sasha had Killian behind her, Justin to her left and Stone to her right. She looked smug. She had the upper hand.

“You have no proof we did anything.”

Clint raised his eyebrows, spreading his arms wide, “I’m the evidence, I’m a witness.”

“I’m sure that we can convince you not to say anything,” Sasha claimed, eyes wide and beseeching, “which would you prefer, bribery or blackmail? Or Intimidation?”

Justin grabbed Clint’s right arm, pinning it to the lockers behind him, Stone mirroring. Sasha smiled lightly, shrugging.

“I really didn’t want anyone to find out. My reputation will be ruined if anyone finds out I kissed that queer.”

Clint smirked at her, eyes settling just over her shoulder, “it’s not your reputation you need to worry about honey,” his mouth twisted as he tried not to grin, “it’s yourself. Do you know what it’s like to have ferociously protective friends? I don’t suppose someone like you does. But you’re about to find out.”

Someone tapped Sasha’s shoulder. She glanced around. The heel of a palm hit her square in the nose, blood splattering instantly. Darcy smiled vindictively. Sasha flailed around, trying to get away. Stone had tried to bolt, but was captured in a headlock by Rhodey. Bucky held tight to Killian. Steve was lifting Justin clean off the floor by his collar. Natasha was at Sasha’s back, Darcy pinning her with a look.

“Oh so scary, it’s a munchkin,” Sasha quipped, though a quiver in her voice gave her away.

“I’m not the scary one. Do you know what happens to people who hurt Natasha’s friends?”

Sasha shook her head, blood dripping onto the floor. Natasha yanked her head back hard, the brunette squealing in pain.

“You’re about to find out,” Natasha smiled prettily.

“Unless-” Clint said, moving forward. He rested two fingers under her jaw, tilting her head a little more so she was forced to meet his eyes- “you tell us everything. Maybe then she won’t hurt you so much.”

Sasha glanced at her brother. He nodded frantically.

“Fine,” she agreed, the words being forced out of her.

They dragged the foursome into the classroom. Clint reached up and grabbed the phone, shutting down the recording. He saved it. Just in case. He followed the others into the classroom, locking the door behind them.

 

Sasha rolled her eyes, still trying to pretend she wasn’t intimidated by the group.

“Spill,” Bucky spat at her, looking revolted.

“Howard Stark paid my brother and his friends to try and convince Stark to leave school. Something about getting him to go to Boston. Pays well. My brother heard that Captain Faggot-“

Bucky slammed his hand down on the table in front of her, making the room jump.

“You sexually assaulted him.”

“So? He’s a guy, he should enjoy it.”

Bucky growled back in his throat. Steve grabbed hold of his upper arm, leaning into his ear.

“Leave it, Buck. Please.”

“She wouldn’t like it if it happened to her,” he stared straight at her, looking like if he could set her on fire, he would.

Sasha was starting to squirm in her seat, gaze directed at the table, “It seemed like a good idea at the time. Easy money. Get Tony to either leave or get kicked out of school.”

“Why?”

“We didn’t ask,” Justin cut in, trying get between Bucky’s unrelenting glare and his sister.

Clint fiddled with his phone in his hand, holding it up and showing the video to them. After it finished, he slipped the phone back in his pocket. The threat was left unspoken.

 

The car ride home was a silent one. Jarvis had tried asking him what was wrong. Tony didn’t want to talk about it. Not now, not yet, not ever. Because talking about it meant making it real. He was tired of real. They arrived home in short order, Tony dropping his bag by the stairs. He walked swiftly into the lounge. He had made his decision in the car, there was no going back. His father was sat in his cushy armchair, reading through a manila file

“Sir, may I talk to you for a moment?”

Howard waited for what felt like an eternity and what felt like the space between breathes. He tilted his head, narrowed his eyes. Scrutinising Tony. Taking every second he could to lord his power over Tony. To make him wait. To watch him squirm. To put him in his place. And finally Tony knew where his place was.

“Tony?”

Tony hesitated, just for a second. If he did this he wouldn’t see any of them again. But his place wasn’t with them. His place was here. Where he knew what to expect.

“I would like to be home-schooled again.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Very well. I’ll make arrangements with MIT.”

And that was it. Tony frowned. He thought his father might ask him why, but nothing. His father picked up his tumbler of scotch, and resumed his reading. Taking that as his dismissal, Tony left and dragged his bag to his room.


	15. And the Rest is Silence

How many days has it been now? He could ask Friday but he didn’t much see the point. It doesn’t matter how much time passes anymore. He’s turning out work faster than ever, a steady diet of caffeine and apple tortes as the only fuel he needs. Jarvis keeps trying to talk to him. But he can’t stop now. He can’t stop this, any of this. There is only this. He had forgotten, grown naïve. There was only this, there is only this, and there will only ever be this. Friends, boyfriends, family. All of it so transient. None of it mattered anymore. Howard Stark was right and nothing else mattered. He was so tired. So damn tired. Of trying to convince other people, trying to convince himself that he was something more than he felt. He wasn’t. People don’t change. Howard never did. Jarvis never did, thank god for that. And Tony never would. He was him. Something he couldn’t change.

‘They used you,’ a voice kept hissing in his ear, ‘they only wanted your money.’

‘They never asked for a dime.’

‘They expected it of you. Free food at Effs, you _always_ paid. Did they ever question it?’

‘Yes.’

‘But they let you pay every time, just keeping up appearances. Pretending, always pretending.’

‘I liked them.’

‘They didn’t like you.’

God, he wanted the voice in his head to shut up.

‘No one likes you. Your friends have turned their backs on you. You are an obligation to them. Your mom, she’s been out of the country for weeks now, left you with _him._ Jarvis? He pities you,’ the voice spat the words like venom, ‘and Howard. He’s just proof that you will never _ever_ be as good. That you are always less.’

‘Mom hasn’t abandoned me…’

‘When was the last time you heard from her?’

He couldn’t honestly say. Might have been an hour ago. Might have been a week. Lack of sleep also left him with a lack of the concept of time.

‘It’s been so long since you’ve seen her.’

‘But Jarvis! He loves me.’

‘You’re his fifteen minutes of fame.’

‘Not true.’

‘He pities you. You are a charity case.’

‘Shut up,’ Tony hissed, hands coming to up to grip at his hair.

He rocked himself slightly. The voice was getting louder and louder in his head. It had always been there. But school had distracted him, and then people had pushed the voice further and further back until it was nothing a forgotten whisper. Now it was just him and the voice.

‘Worthless.’

‘Loser.’

‘Give up.’

 

He was fine. He was most definitely fine. Howard wasn’t hitting him as much anymore. It was more like a twice-weekly event now. In some sick way, he even looked forward to it. He at least felt something then. He’d spent so long working on robotics, he feared he was becoming just as mechanical. Well feared was the wrong word, too strong. Mildly disquieted. Maybe being a robot wouldn’t be so bad. He’d follow commands, anything he did wrong would be the fault of his coder. Because he was sick of being wrong, he was sick of trying to figure this out. Jarvis knocked on his door.

“How is everything, sir?”

“Fine, just fine.”

Even to his own ears his voice sounded thin and tightly strung. Jarvis looked at him, a combination of fondness and concern in his eyes.

“How can I help?”

“You know those movies Ana used to watch? The cheesy romance ones?”

Jarvis nodded slowly, unsure where his young master was going with this line of thought.

“Well, isn’t this the moment in those movies where the love interest or whatever feels jealous? Feels angry? Betrayed? Feels anything at all?”

“You don’t feel like this?”

“I don’t feel like that.”

Jarvis sat down on Tony’s bed, watching the young boy as he sprawled across his desk. The desk, much like its owner, was a mess. Sheets and sheets of paper covered the surface, pencil shavings dusted the floor below, trodden into the carpet. But the owner was in a far worse state. Bruises in every colour the spectrum could provide, a cut across his cheekbone, dried blood on his hands and under his nails. His hair was greasy and unkempt. Jarvis was angry, angry at the gods or fate or whatever being that gave Tony the hand he’d been dealt.

“When Mr Rogers first showed interest, how did you feel?”

Tony blinked at the question, “what sort of question is that? Flattered obviously.”

“Nothing else?”

“I- well it felt nice to be wanted.”

“So you enjoyed feeling valued.”

“Well I- I mean- yeah?”

“Then forgive my impertinence, sir, but I’m not entirely certain you _liked_ Mr Rogers.”

“I liked him,” Tony argued indignantly.

“Apologies sir, it wasn’t my place to comment. Just think about whether you are ready for the attention he gave you. If you are willing and able to reciprocate that in your present state.”

Jarvis quickly dusted around the room, clearing away old glasses of water and plates of half-eaten food. Tony sat in silence. Not working. Not designing. Not even thinking, not really. He tried to work out how he felt towards a certain blond hunk of muscles. There was an attraction. Of some sort. Physical maybe. It would be hard not to be attracted to that. But…was that it… Romantically? He wanted to go on cute date nights, to the cinema, to the beach, to far away from here. He wanted to be pulled away. He wanted to be rescued. He wanted there to be more than there was. He didn’t even know Steve’s name a few months ago. It was crazy to think he was head over heels in love. And there were still so many things he hadn’t learnt yet. And he realised he didn’t want to learn them. Yet. There was definitely a yet there. He just wasn’t ready. Certainly not right now. Maybe someday. But now? He needed to sort himself out before he focused on someone else. He needed to sort himself out before he focused on someone else. It was all going too fast, and if Steve hadn’t kissed that girl, he probably would have fallen in love. Love would have slowed his work. He didn’t have time for a love life. He never had time for a love life. He had to work.

 

They hadn’t called. Or maybe they had.

“Friday, what protocols are currently active?”

Her soft Irish lilt immediately answered, “Blackout Protocol, Code Racoon, and the Crowned King Protocol.”

So the distraction order to keep people away if Howard is in a particularly dark mood, the prevention of contact – except those currently on his exceptions list: Howard, Maria, Obadiah, and Jarvis. – and the Crowned King. It was his way of making sure he became a worthy heir. Some would call it self-imposed torture. Tony called it dedication. It kept him awake constantly, kept his coffee pot running, kept him just barely alive.

‘What’s the point of staying alive? You’ll never measure up.’

Tony ignored the voice and kept working.

 

“We need a plan to get him out of those premises. We need to keep him out of his father’s reach, if at least for long enough for him to build up the courage to testify.”

“I don’t think he’ll need to build up the courage,” Steve commented as he flicked through the sheets of paper detailing everything they knew about the situation.

Darcy cocked her head at him but kept silent. Clint nodded unthinkingly, obsessively flicking through the pictures of Tony’s injuries. Coulson had made them all take a seat as if he were teaching a class. They fell into it naturally. He was their teacher, their guide, their handler.

“None of you are trained for this.”

Clint opened his mouth to argue, but Natasha’s fingers brushing his forearm silenced him. She rolled her eyes but smiled innocently enough up at Coulson. His lips curved up in amusement at the two.

“I understand you want to help, but you could end up in prison if this goes badly.”

“And if we don’t care?”

“Then,” Coulson answered mildly, “intervention will be needed. It is my job as your teacher to protect you.”

“You aren’t allowed to do anything out of school hours.”

Coulson nodded slightly, “no I’m not.”

“And if we wanted to avoid the bureaucracy of your Agency?” Natasha questioned, tone light but eyes clearly sending a more sinister message to the Agent.

He straightened up the papers on his desk, “I would certainly _not_ recommend using the equipment I leave in this room in that cupboard,” he gestured to an unassuming pine cupboard, “to access the Stark Manor. I would _not_ recommend climbing the trellis to enter Stark’s bedroom. Those are the things I _don’t_ recommend doing.”

He stood, carrying a stack of files with him.

“We’ll get him out of their tomorrow night.”

 

He was sat in the shower, cold water running down him. It helped reduce the swelling. A rubber duck with a top hat and monocle bobbed around next to him, ebbing and flowing with the water. He was wondering if he was in shock. Because the world just seemed to slow. And his world was never slow. Even when not thinking, his mind was still firing on all cylinders. But now. He was tired. He was cold. But he couldn’t bring himself to move.

‘Useless,’ the voice whispered, ever present now.

He pulled himself off the floor, grabbing for his towel. As he wiped there was a smudge of red across his body. Old towel, dried blood in it. He threw it into the laundry hamper, not bothering to grab a fresh one. He pulled on boxers. He climbed into bed. He clasped a green stuffed toy turtle, using it as a pillow. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

‘Useless.’

‘Pathetic.’

‘You should die.’

He was starting to think the voice was right.


	16. Taking Back the Crown

He’s so damn tired. He missed them, all of them. His friends. Clint and Natasha, Darcy and Bucky, Pepper and Rhodey, even Steve. Hell especially Steve. He doesn't want a relationship yet, he knows. And he's not mad about the cheating, never was. But at least Steve made him feel warm. He’s cold. Everything aches, constantly now. Some of it from the cuts and the bruises. But some of it is just a hollow empty feeling. And he doesn’t know how to get rid of it. He just hurts all the time. He’s so tired. Living is exhausting. But he keeps going, because that’s what he does. It’s like a set of commands has been executed, his coding – his conditioning - taking over. He eats, sometimes. Mostly the food is left, growing rancid. He sleeps, passes out atop his desk. But mostly he works. His dad doesn’t say much to him now. Doesn’t hit him. Basically Tony has become part of the furniture, growing dusty in a house that was never home. He doesn’t know how to feel anything anymore. He knows Jarvis is worried, but it doesn’t entirely register. Something just isn’t working right anymore. His phone buzzes intermittently, whenever he asks Friday to remove the Racoon Protocol. But he doesn’t answer the calls, honestly forgets they ever happened. The texts go unanswered. He can’t receive any more voicemails, his inbox is full. He keeps on working.

 

Howard calls him down one day. He seems pleased. His chest is puffed out, it reminds Tony of a bullfrog they once had to dissect in biology. Howard seems to think it makes him look more like a peacock, proudly displaying his feathers.

“The board loved my design of the new Stark phone. Now if you could just-“

He didn’t know what happened. The words sort of left his lips before any filter was in place.

“Weren’t those my designs?”

In all honesty, he didn’t care. It didn’t matter to him. Howard would claim they were his, he’d been doing so for years. Tony didn’t have the energy to care. He just wanted to sleep and never wake up. He wanted to stop playing this game. He lost, he was out; he knew this. So why was he forced to play until the end? Why couldn’t he quit early?

“What?” Howard asked, his voice devoid of anything.

When had he moved? He was towering over Tony, looking at Tony like he was a dead cockroach he’d scraped off his shoe.

“Weren’t those my designs? For the new Stark Model?”

Still no filter then. He welcomed the backhand, the searing heat of pain blinding him for a moment as he tumbled to the floor. It smarted, sure, but it didn’t compare to the black hole inside of himself. A darkness that soaked through him, black and cold and numb. Tony laughed, chilling as it echoed through the empty lobby.

“Ha, is that all you’ve got? You’re getting old,” he taunted.

It was like dangling meat in front of a starving wolf. He was going to get his arm bitten off. He was going to be torn apart. Eaten alive. But for now, he was enjoying the danger. He rose to his feet. Smiling despite it sending stabbings of pain across his face. Howard swung again, Tony catching his arm and holding it in his grip.

“No wonder you need me to do everything for you, what can a drunk, abusive old man do?”

Oh, he had wanted to say that for so long. That and so much more.

“You’re pathetic.”

Suddenly his air was cut off, feet dangling as they scrambled to find purchase. Howard’s grip tightened around his throat. Tony smiled, teeth glinting in his manic grin. He knew how to control his old man. Finally. He was so fucking tired that this actually felt like relief. He laughed, hoarse and gloating. Because it finally felt freeing. He could protect them by doing this. Bait the rise, make himself the only target because that’s all he was worth.

“You think you’ve gotten so smart boy-“ Tony nodded as best he could with a hand around his throat, vision going fuzzy at the edges- “especially around those parasitical friends of yours. I still know what’s best for you and you needed to learn that. I had to get you away from them. I should have done it sooner.”

And what Tony had been missing fell into place. Howard had orchestrated everything. Played him like a marionette doll to do his bidding. He wasn’t even surprised really. Howard would do anything to keep the upper hand. This was hardly the lowest he’d sunk.

“It’s pointless trying to fight it.”

Tony broke into hysterical laughter, startling Howard enough to drop him. Tony fell bodily to the floor, still laughing shrilly.

“What is so funny, boy?” Howard snarls, confusion turning to anger as it always had.

Tony loved being confusing right now, “I just can’t believe it. You actually think this is what’s best for me. You’re psychotic.”

“I know this is what’s best. You need to stop fighting me.”

Tony giggled, trying desperately to suck in breath through his swollen throat. Howard twisted his hand into Tony’s collar, pulling him up of the floor.

“I’m not the one throwing the punches,” Tony quipped, his laughter sounding more frantic, desperate and panicked.

“I’m doing what’s right.”

Tony shook his head, trying to stifle his laughter, “You don’t know the difference.”

Howard shook him, trying to shake the attitude out of Tony. He was getting a little scared of his son. He was acting like a loony, he was concerned he’d need to have him committed.

“Stop arguing with me.”

“Nah,” Tony tugged at Howard’s hand, “I don’t think I will thanks. I don’t think I want to work for you anymore-“

“Tony-“

“You could send me off to MIT right now, you could lock me in my room, hell, you could beat me an inch from death – you’ve done it before – and I’m still not working for you anymore. I’m done,” Tony broke into a smile, lopsided and unapologetic, “I’m done.”

And he was done. Who was he taking the heat off anymore? His mom was halfway around the world, safe. Howard would never touch Jarvis. His friends were out of Howard's reach now. Tony turned and began walking towards the front door, intent on leaving. Maybe he could go to Rhodey. But maybe not. He hadn’t exactly been taking calls from him – from anyone. He’d figure it out. Well, that’s what he thought. Except Howard. He blocked the door, leaning over Tony. His face was contorted. Tony couldn’t tell into what. It looked like sadness, but Howard Stark didn’t do sadness.

“I’m doing this for your benefit.”

He backhanded Tony hard enough to make his vision go spotty, before dragging him by the hair.

“You need to learn. You were right though, I should lock you away.”


	17. Strike Team Delta

They had come to an agreement. Clint and Natasha were the only ones with actual knowledge on scaling buildings, so they were to conduct the rescue. Rhodey and Bucky were to keep watch, Bruce was accessing what he could of the security systems to give them some time. Steve was pacing their designated safe space, and Darcy was trying to settle him. Natasha scaled the wall, pulling Clint up after her.

“Ready in three… two… one, all clear,” Bruce said calmly into their earpieces.

Coulson had managed to supply them actual gear, comms that were so clear it sounded like they were talking in each other’s ears, grappling hooks, a recursive bow for Clint, and Tasers for Natasha. They dropped on the other side of the wall, following it until they reached the back of the house.

“Guard patrol in T minus three minutes, armed with standard issue glocks.”

“Thanks Bruce,” Clint whispered back, nudging Natasha into the shadows of an ostentatious marble statue. It looked like it was meant to be of Howard himself. They sat, hearing the heavy footfalls of the guards. Natasha climbed up the statue, slithering up it like a cobra. She perched, looming, waiting for them to pass.

“Urgh Stan what time is it?” one of the guards yawned.

The other guy shrugged, holding a button on his watch. The dial lit bright blue, lighting his face. He had dark circles under his eyes, stubble covering his chin.

“Time for a break,” Stan replied, scrubbing a hand down his face.

His radio buzzed, the crackle loud in the silence. Stan stretched as the other guard grabbed it off his belt.

“Leave off, Mark,” Stan groused, Mark shooting him a look.

The radio spoke in low tones, Natasha unable to catch a word. She glanced down to Clint, nodding when he shrugged up at her.

“For fucks sake,” Mark groaned, “why does Howard treat the kid like shit?”

“I know,” Stan sighed.

For some reason they both paused, just before rounding the corner. Maybe they heard something, maybe some movement caught their eye. But they both turned to look at the statue. Clint pressed himself to the marble, not daring to glance up in case they saw the movement. Eventually, with breath frozen in his lungs, he heard them walk away. He finally looked up. But the statue was free of his partner.

“Natasha,” he hissed into the silence, “Natasha,” he tried again with more desperation.

“Up here.”

He looked up, around, still no sign of her.

“No, up here.”

His eyes followed the voice to the top of a black marble fountain, her hair dripping wet and rivulets of water running down her face.

“That could have gone better,” she climbed down, the water halfway up her shins, “let’s go find Tony’s room.”

 

The gardens were huge. They were chased by peacocks, got lost in a maze of hedges, and trampled through several dozen flowerbeds.

“What’s taking so long?” Bruce questioned, sounding both annoyed and confused.

“Have you tried finding your way across these grounds?” Clint snapped.

“No,” Bruce conceded, “where are you now?”

“Northern gardens, by the stables,” Natasha answered swiftly, before Clint could sass Bruce any further.

“Head eastwards, until you reach the back wall. There should be a white wooden trellis, Tony’s room is directly above it. But take it slow, guards approaching from the west.”

They ran and climbed the trellis, pressing against the wall until the patrol passed. Natasha slid a knife under the crack in the window, unlatching it and easing the window open.

 

They climbed in, Natasha with lithe grace and Clint with nimble balance. The room was so silent it felt oppressive. Clint swiped two finger along the empty desk, rubbing them against his thumb. Dust fell in white particles. Natasha was kneeling on the floor, looking at a rust coloured stain on the floor.

“Blood.”

“And a lot of it,” Clint agreed.

They swept the room, looking in every nook and cranny, Natasha taking pictures on her cell phone. Clint was speaking in hushed tones to Bruce.

“We’re in his room, but he’s not. Any ideas?”

He could hear the frown in Bruce’s voice, “nothing on previous CCTV, he hasn’t left the house. Try the workshop, located in the basement.”

Natasha nodded, despite Bruce being unable to see. She turned to Clint with a look. He nodded and they started gathering up things for Tony. There were certain things in the room that Natasha noted. Things that were kept out of the way. Out of the line of fire. She delicately picked up a glass mouse, wrapping it in a soft blue jumper. After wrapping up the other glass sculptures in Tony’s clothes, she tucked them all in her bag. Clint was chucking clothes in haphazardly, as well as a green turtle toy and the few framed photos that littered the bedside table. Anything that looked remotely personal.

“What do you think this is?” Clint asked, nudging a pile of parts with his foot.

Natasha bent down, picking up each piece and turning it in her hands, “Not sure, but why would it still be here if it wasn’t one of Tony’s personal projects?”

“Let’s bag it then.”

Clint lifted it, placing it in his bag with a pained grown, “fuck, that’s heavy.”

“Baby,” Natasha teased, “see anything else he might want?”

“I think that’s everything. Let’s go.”

 

They opened the door. The corridor was empty and dark, all the lights turned off.

“Bruce, where do we go? This place is huuuge.”

Natasha listened as there was a fast clack of a keyboard, “take the next door on your right, should take you into the servants’ corridor. You should be able to go through without being stopped.”

They both sneaked into the aforementioned corridor. It was decorated a lot more sparsely. Instead of rich red walls and mahogany floors, it was simple white paint and black and white tiles. The walls were bare, free of original – if hideous – artwork. Their footsteps were loud, even if there was no one around to hear. Bruce was reeling off directions, taking them down hidden staircases and into secret passageways. They kept going down and down, one staircase spiralling so tightly it made them both dizzy as they raced down it.

“It’s approaching dawn, you need to find him and fast.”

“We get it,” Natasha replied tightly.

The constant reminder of the ticking clock wasn’t helping.

 

They found the workshop, tip-toeing around to only confirm it was as empty as Tony’s bedroom. They snooped a little, uncovering design after design covered in Tony’s handwriting. But no Tony. It was frustrating.

“If you can’t find him in the next thirty minutes, you are going to need to escape.”

“Not without him,” Clint growled.

“But-“

“Shush, someone’s coming,” Natasha pushed Clint backwards, the two of them ducking under a table and trying to squeeze themselves into a darkened corner.

“Mr Stark, sir, your son needs to eat!”

“He’s holding out on me Jarvis, and until he stops, he doesn’t get to eat. He will fall in line.”

Feet approached their hiding place, staggering everywhere. A hand shot out under them, both Natasha and Clint leaning away from its reach. Blindly fumbling, the hand found its target, closing around a bottle of scotch. The feet walked away, tripping over themselves and catching on furniture.

“That boy-“ there was a clink of glass on glass- “he doesn’t appreciate anything I do for him.”

A bottle cap fell to the floor, rolling up to Clint’s foot. Polished shoes paused by the table, waiting for something.

“Sir, may I speak to him?”

“No Jarvis, I think he is best left to think about his actions. I’ll speak to him tonight.”

Howard’s works were starting to roll into one, as glass hit glass again. The slurring became worse with each second. They listened carefully as subsequent drinks were poured then drunk as quickly. Jarvis knelt down and felt for the bottle cap, not looking, keeping his eyes on Howard.

“I do think it’s best you get some rest then sir. The young master can, on occasion, be a handful,” the butler posed delicately.

Clint nudged to cap with his foot, just as the hand reached for it. The pads of Jarvis’ fingers touched the dirty sneakers, pausing just for a moment before reaching for the bottle cap. He picked up the cap and rescued the bottle from Howard’s clutches. He held it under the desk, shaking it slightly for one of them to grab. Natasha leaned forward and took it, tucking it behind her. Howard sighed, dropping onto a chair.

“I suppose you are right,” the man gave in, tapping his foot on the concrete, “that boy can be a nightmare. I should take care of him properly.”

“I’ll tidy down here, you just get a good night’s rest.”

Howard walked away without another word, the door to the workshop sliding shut after him. Jarvis crouched down. Stress, exhaustion, and concern were etched deep into the wrinkles on his face. He didn’t say a word, only offered a hand to Natasha to pull her out from under the table.

“Tony is in the attic,” Jarvis stated with segue, “Howard has pulled some security staff and blocked the entrance.”

“How do we get in?” Natasha interrogated.

“I would have said the roof, but Howard has closed the windows, they are sealed shut now.”

Clint wasn’t paying attention, staring at the ceiling. He walked over to table and pulled it with a loud scrape into position. The other two were still chatting animatedly as he opened an air duct. He had spent hours studying the air ducts. And he knew, from personal experience, that when people are looking for you they rarely look up. He climbed in, inspecting the strength. Industrial, should be fine.

“Nat, c’mon, we have to hurry. Mr Butler dude, can you put the table back?”

The gentleman smiled, eyes crinkling and moustache twitching a little, “it would be a pleasure Mr Barton, just please, get my boy out.”

Natasha climbed onto the table, then into the air vent, pulling the grate closed behind her. Jarvis fixed it in place before pushing the table back.

“I’ll do all I can to delay Howard, but he’s not going to sit still for long. I can give you an hour at most.”

 

They found the attic easily enough; they just kept heading up until they ran out of up. It was dusty, full of boxes and rolled up carpets. They weaved through them together, Clint linking his pinkie finger around Natasha’s. She squeezed lightly. The silence, the cobwebs all left it feeling like they were walking into a horror film.

“Guys,” Bruce gasped, urgency in the single syllable, “Cameras are down, I don’t have visuals.”

A loud scraping sound, and the clatter of dull metal on wood. A breeze swept over them, brisk and cold. Nat hurried forward. A small clearing had been made among the boxes. Within it, there was a desk with an ancient computer, a pile of what looked like old curtains, and a tipped over desk chair. A window under a little arch was open wide, gauze curtains fluttering in the breeze. Nails littered the floor around it. Picking one up to inspect it, Clint glanced at Natasha. Blood, fresh blood, coated several of them. A makeshift rope, made of old bedding and what looked like out of season dresses, was tied to the table. Natasha followed it to out the window, peering down.

“Tony!”

At the exclamation, the boy lost his grip, sliding down a few inches and slamming his shoulder into the heavy brick wall.

“Shit,” he hissed as pain surged into his arm.

“Clint, go help. I’m going to get evidence. Bruce, we have him.”

The ear piece crackled slightly in her ear, voice indistinct from the static.

“Can you ten nine that?”

“We’ve had to… Rhodey and… back, You’re… own.”

“Ten four, we’ll be out soon.”

Clint was stretching to reach for a drainpipe, swinging across to it using some jutting ceiling beams. He slid down it quickly, slowing as he levelled with Tony. The boy was clinging to the rope, arms shaking with the exertion. His eyes were closed and he was resting his head against the brick wall, breathing stiffly through his mouth. After a moment, he must have sensed Clint’s mounting concern because he cracked a pained smile and looked across at him.

“Hey man, looking to enjoy the view?”

“Nah,” Clint smirked, more from relief that his friend was up to quipping than anything else, “I’m hiding from the peacocks.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, eyes falling onto the garden below, “Yeah,” he said again.

And Clint was concerned, Tony’s voice was shaking, sounding more and more distant even though the space between them didn’t change.

“We need to get you down.”

Tony nodded, but seemed to have no inclination to move. If one could be swaying while clinging to a rope four floors up, Tony was doing it. His breathing was still ragged, legs wrapped around the rope.

“How are you feeling?” Clint asked, even though the question felt redundant.

Tony smiled, turning his head to look at Clint, “honestly? I’ve been better. What are you doing here?”

Clint reached forward and gently ruffled Tony’s hair, discretely feeling for head wounds. There was a rather large lump at the back of his head.

“I’m saving my princess.”

“Don’t let Nat hear you say that,” Tony said, words starting to run into each other.

“She’s no princess, she’s the queen. I meant you.”

“I’m not some damsel,” Tony protested, but there was no heat to his words.

“I know, we should really give you more credit. This all feels like a fairy tale.”

“Never read them,” Tony said, starting to climb down more.

Clint slid down to the bottom, grabbing hold of Tony once he was within reach. The boy curled into his grip. Natasha slid down shortly after, one moment she was leaning out the attic window and the next she was striding over to Tony. He was shivering. Or was it trembling. Natasha tried looking at his eyes, but he kept ducking his head. She nudged Clint, who tugged at Tony’s hand.

“We didn’t get this far to get caught, let’s go.”

 

They ran across the gardens, trying to make it to the closest wall. A metallic click made them all freeze. All three of them raised their hands, turning slowly. Two guards, the ones Natasha recognised as Mark and Stan, had their guns poised and fingers lightly on the trigger. Natasha met their eyes fearlessly. Mark sighed and holstered his weapon.

“Master Stark, your father-“

“The cameras are down,” Natasha cut in.

Tony shifted, coughing guiltily, “that… might have been me.”

Stan holstered his gun as well, looking like he was acting against his better judgement, “go, now. We didn’t see you.”

They didn’t need to be told twice. They were up and over the garden wall, racing down the street.


	18. No Superman

The sun was starting to rise by the time they made it somewhere safe. They were going to take Tony to their apartment, had plans of setting up a spare room for him. He had fallen completely silent on the walk home and despite Clint’s best efforts, he stayed silent. His eyes were glazed over, his left hand clasping his right shoulder.

“Maybe we should get him to a hospital?”

Natasha nodded, “Bruce, send Rhodey with his car.”

“10-4, what’s your twenty?”

Natasha reeled off their location. Clint guided Tony down to some steps, sitting him and trying to get level with him.

“Tony, I need you to look at me.”

Tony shook his head, shivering in the morning air. Clint easily slipped out of his jacket, wrapping it around Tony’s shoulders.

“C’mon, I know you don’t wanna, and I really don’t want to make you do thing you don’t wanna do, but we just want to make sure you’re okay. You might have a concussion.”

Clint reached out to cup his chin. Tony flinched violently back, jarring his shoulder as he knocked his elbow into a step. But he didn’t show any pain, beyond a more pronounced grimace. Natasha swapped places with Clint, her tone gentle.

“Tones, we think you might be going into shock. You’ve suffered a bad head wound and pretty severe blood loss. We won’t hurt you, but we need to see if anything require immediate medical attention. Can you please look at me?”

His eyes darted up to hers but immediately dropped back down, as if the dirty ground was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. Opening his backpack, Clint grabbed the stuffed turtle toy from his bag and handed it to Tony. The boy took it cautiously, curling in on himself.

 

A car pulled up, Rhodey throwing himself out and rushing up to Tony. He wrapped his arms around the boy who fast became family, and kept up the hug as Tony broke apart. Sobbing, screaming, whimpering. Rhodey rocked him gently back and forth, whispering reassurances.

“He needs a hospital,” a strange voice called out.

All eyes were on her. Tall, slender, with a block fringe and long, straight, black hair. She looked in her early twenties.

“Can’t you give him a sec? He’s dealing with stuff,” Clint barked out at her.

“We all are,” she snapped back, “but he needs a hospital.”

Natasha glared at the woman, but unlike most, she didn’t seem remotely frightened.

“But it will get leaked to the press, he can’t deal with that right now.”

“I know a nurse, she’s discreet.”

She waited. No one moved. Except for Tony, who stood up shakily. He stumbled forward, three pairs of hands coming up to steady him. He waved them away, and walked up to the woman.

“Jessica Jones,” she introduced herself.

She opened the car door, allowing Tony to slide into the back seat. He sat in the middle, Clint and Natasha bracketing him on each side, sending glares at the back of Miss Jones’ head. Rhodey took up the driving seat, allowing Jessica to guide him.

 

After a quick drive, Jessica threw a far too large hoodie at Tony.

“It’ll cover his face,” she said shortly, “wait here. Too big of a group will attract attention.”

She hoisted Tony out of his seat, pulling him over Natasha and onto the sidewalk. She briskly straightened up his clothes and pulled the hood over his head. Maintaining a strong grip on his left arm, she walked him down the corridors and into a stairwell.

“I suppose you have questions?”

Tony shrugged. He didn’t really. He was out of the house and not being hit. He wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He followed her up the stairs, hand tightening on the hand rail. Jessica paused, turning to face him.

“Sorry, this isn’t really my thing. I don’t do the after bit.”

Tony shrugged again and pushed past her. He was still shivering under the hoodie, Clint’s coat, and his own tee. They eventually came to the right floor, Tony dragging his feet. He was tired, his head hurt, and he was starving.

“Wait here.”

He wasn’t going anywhere fast. Jessica eased him to lean against the wall. Her grip was firm but her mannerisms were cautious, gentle. She slipped out the door, her own olive green hoodie pulled up to cover herself. Within a minute she was back, a nurse in blue scrubs following as she pulled on latex gloves.

“You weren’t lying,” she muttered to Jessica as she took in the bruises. Pursing her lips, she got to work. “Hi Tony, my name’s Claire. I know Jessica from-“

“It doesn’t matter,” Jessica cut in with a look.

Claire sighed irritably, clearly used to but not happy her behaviour, “can I take a look at your shoulder?” she asked, noting the way he was holding it.

He nodded, and Claire began the examination. She prodded about his shoulder for a few minutes, looking over the bruising.

“Dislocation, the swelling has gone down enough for treatment. Now Tony, I’m going to rotate your arm to get it back in the joint.”

Tony nodded and let go of his arm. Claire raised it gently. Tony closed his eyes and lent his head back against the wall.

“Dislocations hurt like a bitch,” Jessica said, slipping a hip flask out of her pocket.

She took a mouthful before offering some to Tony. Claire batted her hand away, and grabbed the flask from her. She placed it behind her, and gave her a disapproving look. She managed to get Tony’s shoulder back in place, Tony groaning in both pain and relief. Claire quickly looped a sling around his neck, setting his arm carefully to rest. She looked over the other bruises, frowning at their severity.

“Do I want to know?” Claire looked up at Jessica.

“Only if you want a media circus in here.”

“Okay,” she agreed, tugging off the latex gloves and trying to meet Tony’s eyes, “it’s too late to ice the bruises, so use heat packs to stimulate blood flow. Ibuprofen to reduce the swelling and codeine for the pain,” she pulled a prescription pad from her pocket and hastily scribbled down on it before ripping off the page, “try not to keep him on codeine for longer than a week. Less, ideally. And rest, lots of rest,” she stood to address Jessica, “I want him back here properly in two days. He needs a more thorough exam. X-rays, blood tests, everything,” she lowered her voice, “He’s presenting symptoms of PTSD, find his guardian, and make sure they support him through this. Keep an eye out for concussion, if he falls asleep, wake him up at regular intervals. I have to get back. Remember, I want to see him back here in two days. Rest that arm. I’ll get a room set up.”

She was out the door, casting one last look to the injured kid on the ground. Jessica helped Tony to his feet and gave him a piggy back down the stairs. Tony would have felt insulted, but he couldn’t muster up the energy.

 

Clint and Natasha were sitting on the roof of the car, Rhodey pacing impatiently in front. Jessica had filled out their prescription in the hospital, already having given Tony the codeine. He was out like a light, sleeping against her shoulder. She readjusted him on her back, shifting to get a better grip.

“Dislocation, bruising, possible concussion, Claire wants him back in in two days.”

“No worries, let’s just get him home,” Rhodey opened the door to the back seat.

Clint helped take the weight of Tony as Jessica lowered him, Clint and Natasha arranging him as best they could on their laps as they sat down. Natasha was playing absently with his hair with her left hand, Clint’s hand squeezing her right. The ride was silent, save for Natasha guiding Rhodey to her apartment.

 

The apartment was large, far bigger than two high school students should be able to afford. With high ceilings and cream walls, it felt warm and inviting. Dark red sofas were pushed under the windows, which overlooked a small park. A fluffy black rug was spread out across the wood effect linoleum. A little kitchenette stood at the other end of the room, a breakfast bar separating it from the lounge. There were three doors along the opposite wall. Natasha walked forward, tapping on one.

“Mine and Clint’s room, don’t enter. This one,” she splayed a palm on the middle door, “is the bathroom, and this one,” she knocked sharply on the last door, “is now Tony’s room.”

The door swung open, Darcy, Pepper, Bucky, Bruce, and Steve walking out. They all looked around for the genius. Jessica was carrying him again. He was still asleep, drooling slightly on her shoulder. With a look of mild disgust and resignation, she accepted the paper towels Clint handed her and wiped the drool away.

“Bedroom?”

Natasha led her into the room. It looked like maid service had been through. The bed was made, not a crease in sight. The furniture was dust free and polished to a shine. The carpets were vacuumed, and pyjamas were laid out neatly on the bed. Jessica raised her eyebrows.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Natasha smiled politely, picking up the clothes.

“I didn’t think a thing, Miss Jones,” Natasha replied, her tone so sweet it would melt teeth, “you aren’t paid enough for this, am I right?”

Jessica rolled her eyes, tucking her hands in her hoodie pocket, “something like that. I need to inform my client of Mr Stark’s whereabouts.”

She pulled out her hip flask, taking a long drink and walking from the room. Natasha ignored her, enlisting Rhodey to help her change Tony into pyjamas.

 

He didn’t have a clue where he was when he woke up. Part of him was so disorientated that it felt like he could write off the last seventeen years as a bad dream. But then he shifted. The pain raked up his arm, burnt across his back, and a twisted knot settled in his stomach. He was going to be sick. Only having enough wherewithal through the agony to lean over the side of the bed, his stomach heaved. But there was nothing to come up, only slippery bile rising up his throat. He collapsed down onto the pale blue bed sheets, feeling sweat bead on his brow. He tried to figure out where he was, but it was impossible. He didn’t recognise a thing, not even the view outside the window. Kidnapping again, maybe? He tried to stand, but his head was swimming. The room was spinning, the floor sliding out from beneath his feet. He reached out to steady himself but groaned as the movement shot up his arm.

“Ouch.”

He didn’t like the bed, too exposed. It was in the middle of the room, pushed against the wall. Light streamed in through the windows. He climbed onto the desk, every muscle protesting, before pulling himself on top of the wardrobe. He curled up on top, barely an inch from the ceiling, his injured arm pulled close to his chest. He closed his eyes and let himself drift back to sleep. Unbeknownst to him, a red-head slipped into the room. Silently, she cleaned up the bile, nose crinkling at the smell.

“Clint,” she called softly from the doorway, leaning against the wooden frame, “he’s not here.”

Clint rose from the sofa, holding out a hand for everyone to remain seated. He joined Natasha in the room. Together, they checked under the bed and desk, in the wardrobe. Clint glanced up, spying a tuft of dark hair peeking over the edge. He pointed it out to Natasha, who smiled sadly. She reached up and nudged Tony awake. He startled, hands shooting up to cover his face.

“Shush, Tony, it’s me. You’re in our apartment.”

Tony sat up, knocking his head into the ceiling. He glanced up with a frown, rubbing the top of his head.

“Do you remember what happened?”

Tony nodded. Now that he wasn’t comatose, concussed, or confused, he could sort of remember. He had made a rope ladder of sorts out of old curtains and his mother’s out-of-fashion clothing. Climbed out the window after waking up from his father’s last… His father’s last visit. He remembers Clint finding him, not entirely sure why he was there. He remembers a nurse fixing his dislocated shoulder – that’s why he’s in so much pain.

“You didn’t talk much yesterday either,” Clint commented lightly, offering a hand to help Tony down from the wardrobe.

Tony flinched at Clint’s movement, ducking his head, lips moving so slightly and so quickly that the words were nothing but ghosts. He slid down onto the desk, then once feet where firmly on the floor, he shied away from them both.

“Tony,” Natasha refused to let the hurt she felt show on her face, or resonate in her voice, “we won’t hurt you.”

His voice was quiet but finally he said something, “I… I- I know. You- I- it was- sorry, sorry.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it-” She reached out slowly, trying her best to project every movement she made. Though the hand on his arm still seemed to startle Tony- “take your time.”

Clint shuffled about during the exchange, scuffing a foot back and forth. Tony’s eyes kept darting between Natasha’s face and hands, and Clint’s foot.

“Tones,” Clint said, pitch rising as he approached a question, “do you want to be left alone?”

Tony’s eyes shot up, looking in the approximate location of Clint’s before he threw himself at him, launching himself fast, throwing both arms around Clint. Clint stumbled backwards. After regaining his footing, he hugged Tony back, stroking up and down in what he hoped was a soothing manner. Tony was shivering, shaking his head frantically against Clint’s shoulder.

“Okay, bad idea, I won’t go anywhere. I’m sorry. But let’s sit down, that couldn’t have been good for your arm,” Clint walked them backwards until he could set Tony down on the bed, “do you feel up to seeing the others?”

Tony only butted his head into Clint. Natasha rested a hand against his ribs, frowning.

“Tony, you need to steady your breathing.”

He shook his head, fingers curling tighter into Clint’s shirt. She made soft sympathetic noises, but uncurled one hand and placed it just below the hollow of her throat.

“You are safe here, we won’t let anyone hurt you again. But we also don’t want you hurting yourself. You are at the edge of hyperventilating, I need you to breathe with me.”

 

He knew Clint was with him. Natasha was there too. But they had been at Howard’s. What if Howard found out? What if Howard treated them how he treated Tony? He couldn’t let them hurt. He- no- they- no- what if Howard found out? They weren’t safe, he’d find them, he’d find them. They’d gotten to Bruce before, they could get to Clint and Natasha. They could get Steve and Bucky. They could get Rhodey, they’d probably even get Jeanette. He should- no- he had to go back. But then Natasha was talking at him… no, to him. He was meant to be responding. Breathing, she was trying to get him to breathe. But the air was too… it wasn’t breathable air. His lungs were burning. He felt Clint shift. He couldn’t go. Howard would find them. Clint had to stay. He curled his fingers tightly in Clint’s shirt, silently begging him not to go. Clint closed a hand around his, Natasha lifting his hand against her décolletage. She felt like fire. His hand felt numb. Tony tried to pull away but Natasha scolded him. He had to force himself not to curl further into himself at her tone. She tutted and held his hand steady. He could faintly feel her pulse. Rhythmic beneath his palm. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest.

“Breathe in with me, through your nose,” she commanded.

She breathed in for the count of four, and held it there for seven seconds. Her skin still felt like fire against his skin, his fingers shaking. She closed her fingers around his, holding his hand in place.

“Now breathe out through your mouth.”

She exhaled slowly and audibly. Tony counted in his head as he breathed. Eleven. In for four, hold for seven, out for eleven. Repeat, repeat, repeat. She talked him through it all, coaching him until his skin stopped burning against hers, and his hands stopped shaking.

“Tony, can you look at me one second?” She asked kindly.

He turned his head towards her, not quite able to meet her eyes. She cupped his chin loosely, he could pull away if he wanted.

“Keep breathing,” she reminded, “your lips are still a little discoloured, but your hands are warming up.”

His hands were starting to tingle now, brain sluggishly trying to organise its thoughts. Clint was sheltering his body with his own, Natasha blocking his other side. He felt drained. Not tired, not even exhausted. But drained, like his soul was being leeched away.

“Hot Chocolate?” Clint suggested.

But Tony didn’t want to move.

“I could go grab it.”

That was worse than moving. Clint stood to go, Tony gripping the tail of his shirt and trailing after him. He had his hand circled loosely around Natasha’s wrist, his friend allowing him to lead her into the lounge.

 

Everyone stood when he entered. He kept his head down, letting Clint tug him into their little kitchenette. Warming the milk on the stove, Clint stirred in Chocolate Powder as Tony fiddled with the hem of his shirt. Natasha, keeping a hand resting on Tony’s shoulder, turned to the others and gave them a look to remain silent. Rhodey chose to ignore this, instead walking up to Tony. Tony flinched at the approaching footsteps but managed to muster up a wan smile for Rhodey.

“Hey Tones, how’s the arm?”

From the look on his face, he’d completely forgotten about it. But now he focused on it, it hurt. A lot. He shrugged with his good shoulder, trying to maintain physical contact with Clint and Natasha, while instigating it with Rhodey.

“Wanna come sit with us?”

Tony shot a panicked glance to Natasha and Clint, both of whom nodded encouragingly.

“We’ll be over in a second,” Clint offered, giving him a little nudge towards the couch.

Rhodey ruffled Tony’s hair gently. Tony felt so tiny, so slim now. He’d lost weight since they’d last seen him. It felt like a gentle breeze could snap him in half at any moment. He sat Tony in the armchair he’d vacated, sitting at his feet. Tony kept a vice-like on his shoulder, as though he was afraid Rhodey was going to disappear from under his hand. Tony was jittering, never focusing on anything for long. His eyes were trying to look at everything at once.

“Clint, since you’re up,” Darcy began, her tone wheedling, “can you find us something to eat?”

Clint sighed melodramatically, “I suppose.”

 

The room was filled with the smell of bacon and sausages, the sounds of sizzling and spitting fat filling the air. Natasha was sat on the arm of Tony’s armchair, holding his hand loosely.

“Tony,” she started, her tone gentle and cautious, “do you think you can tell us what happened?”

He shook his head. He wasn’t ready to think about that yet. He needed to make sure they were all safe, that they all stayed together.

_‘They think you’re pathetic,’_ the voice in his head whispered, _‘you can’t protect them.’_

Tony tugged at his hair. The pain helped blank out the voice, like tugging out his hair could pull the voice out with it. Warm hands pulled his gently away; blue, blue eyes met his.

“Tony, you shouldn’t hurt yourself,” Steve hummed, voice pitched soft and low.

And for some reason that was a kind sentiment too many. Tony couldn’t take it. It was overwhelming. There was too much… too much niceness. It- he- he didn’t deserve it. It was- it was not for him. But… he was tired. He wanted the niceness. But when Steve reached out, Tony flinched. Natasha’s hand instantly shot for Steve’s wrist, holding him in place. She looked to Tony, who was clenching and unclenching his hand against a cushion.

“I think it’s best we make some ground rules,” Natasha commanded the attention of the room, “until Tony states otherwise, no physical contact unless initiated by Tony himself.”

“That’s- I’m sorry,” Tony whispered, staring at his knees, “it’s all my fault, sorry, sorry,” he curled his hands, drumming his knuckles against his temples.

“Hey,” Darcy cooed sympathetically, “may I?” she leaned forward on the sofa, looking from Tony to her hands and waited for him to nod. She placed them lightly on his legs, moving them back and forth absently, “none of this is your fault. Not one bit, not an iota. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I should have been better, I should- I should have- I could have protected you,” he breathed through clenched teeth.

“You were real brave, kid, but we’re all adults,” Bucky said, hands clasped together in his lap, “we’ll manage whatever is thrown at us.”

“No, no, no,” Tony cried out, voice rising in pitch and desperation, “he’ll come after you, he went after Bruce and Steve, and- and he’s going to come after you, after you all. He’s-“

“Tony, stop. We have a plan,” Bruce interrupted what was fast becoming another panic attack.

“A plan?” he repeated, dumbfounded.

“Part of a plan,” Clint affirmed, as he brought over sandwiches and mugs of warm, sweet chocolate.

“How much of a plan?” Tony narrowed his eyes suspiciously, picking at the bread.

He was hungry. But now food was in front of him, that empty ache was gone. He just felt a bit sick.

“Twelve percent of a plan,” Darcy chirped, before taking a colossal bite of her sausage sandwich.

Pepper smirked at her, as ketchup ran down Darcy’s chin, “an argument can be made for fifteen.”

Tony almost felt like smiling. This, this is what he’d been missing. The carefree way of talking. Saying anything that came to their minds and spilled from their lips without fearing… repercussions.

“Not the most reassuring, I’ll admit,” Rhodey leaned his head back to look at Tony, “but Coulson and Jones and the oh-so-mysterious client know more of the plan. Our part was mostly just getting you somewhere safe.”

Tony nodded half-heartedly. Nowhere was safe, not really. When you are a rich, white, famous, male there isn’t anywhere that is out of your reach. He was pretty certain that if he turned on the TV, his face would be splashed across every news channel with false claims of kidnapping. He shifted, gritting his teeth against the pain in his arm.

“Shit,” Clint muttered softly, “we forgot your pain meds.”

He placed a cup of hot chocolate in Tony’s hands – after receiving a consenting nod from Tony – and left Tony to soak in its warmth. He returned a moment later with two pills and a glass of water.

“You really should eat first,” Bruce warned, “and drink the entire glass of water.”

Tony did as told, nibbling on the sandwich until three quarters were gone. The pills were dry swallowed, and the glass of water drained. Slowly a sense of warmth swept over him, a blanket that muffled all the pain and panic. He tried to fight it, tried to stay awake. But, surrounded by his friends, he felt sort of… safe.

 

“I think that went okay,” Clint said, easing Tony’s mostly empty mug from his hand.

“Certainly could have gone worse,” Pepper agreed.

“He’s definitely got some form of PTSD,” Natasha thought aloud, “unsurprisingly though. There… there was a lot of blood in the mansion. As I said, project movements, go slow, keep voices low. If you touch him, make sure he can escape or pull away,” Natasha assessed, “stay close to him for the time being, I don’t think he feels safe alone.”

Everyone nodded, Pepper standing to clear up the dishes. They fell into silence. It was awkward, full of tension that had nowhere to go. Clint flicked on the TV in lieu of anything else to do. The noises buzzed in the background, no one paying much attention. Bucky and Clint were both staring blankly at the screen. Pepper was still in the kitchenette, washing up the plates. Darcy, unable to keep still, was fiddling with Bucky’s hair. Bruce rose to help Pepper, Natasha claiming his vacant seat. Steve was looking in the direction of the TV, but not at it. Natasha could feel the tension across his shoulders, the desire to take action but no action to take. He was pretending to be calm. His hand was resting just next to Tony’s.


	19. Movies Until Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back by popular demand... Jks jks, but seriously, I'm sorry this took so long. Life has been throwing a lot of crap at me for the better half of a year but things seem like they'll be getting better. So expect more chapters, and hopefully I'll have this fic finished by either the end of July or start of August. 
> 
> And for everyone reading this, thank you so so much for being patient with me and waiting. You have no idea how much I appreciate you still being here after all this time.
> 
> Lots of Love,  
> SkywardGeek xxx

He doesn’t talk. Not really. Not the way he used to. He’s withdrawn, only speaking when directly addressed. Monosyllabic answers. ‘Are you hungry?’ ‘No’, ‘How are you feeling?’ ‘Fine’. They couldn’t draw him back to them. He was with them in body but his mind and soul were far, far away. And Clint was trying to find a way to reach him. He could hear Tony through the wall, him walking around outside his and Nat’s bedroom door. Those hesitant steps, a staccato rhythm. Finally, around 2am, Clint heard him move away. And he couldn’t have that. He pulled himself out of bed, shivering in the sudden exposure of the air on his bare arms. He brushed Natasha’s hair back, planting a gentle kiss to her temple.

“He’s awake again,” she stated, as if she hadn’t just woken up from a dead sleep. Maybe she hadn’t, Clint could never tell.

“Yeah, living room.”

She sat up against the headboard, leaning over to switch the bedside lamp on, “Nightmare?”

Clint shrugged, moue planted on his face, “I don’t know, he doesn’t have any tells.”

“Unless he always has nightmares, so his normal behaviour includes his tell,” Natasha reasoned, crawling out of bed after Clint. She wrapped their throw around his shoulders, and pulling the duvet off their bed, dragging it to the door. “Movie night?” she asked, chin tilted in question.

Clint nodded with a yawn, opening the door. Tony was stood on the far side of the room, rucksack on his back, and good hand on the door handle.

“Sit your ass down,” Clint said calmly, meandering to the kitchen to find a midnight snack of some sort.

This wasn’t the first time they’d caught Tony in the act of leaving. They would never stop him, if he really wanted to that is. But they knew he wasn’t going for the right reasons.

Tony scurried over to the sofa, but elected to sit on the floor. Natasha sat down next to him, leaning back against the sofa and throwing the duvet around them both. Tony curled into himself, waiting for what he thought was inevitable. The scold, the slap, the fight that was bound to happen. Instead he got Clint collapsing down on his other side, handing across mugs of hot chocolate to Natasha and himself, a bowl of popcorn placed on his lap, and Tangled playing on the TV.

“Aren’t you-?”

“No, Tony,” Natasha answered, “we’re not going to yell. Or fight. We aren’t mad. You aren’t our prisoner. But we do want you to explain why you keep trying to run away.”

“I-“ he started hesitantly, flicking a piece of popcorn around the bowl, “he’ll find you. He does that. I ran away from home when I was seven. He found me in two hours and thirty seven minutes,” his tone was heavy with resignation, but his face was immovable, a blank slate, “he’ll find me and if he finds me here, you’ll get in trouble.”

“You say that like we’ve never been in trouble,” Clint smirked next to him.

“This is more than a detention,” Tony snapped, “this is lawsuits, prison, your life. I’m not wrecking your life because I’m being a pussy about things.”

“I didn’t mean-“ Clint tried.

Tony immediately ducked his head, flinching when Clint tried to talk, “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about. And you weren’t being a pussy, Tony,” Clint said quietly, “You were abused. And it sucks. But I’ve been there and it can get better too. But you need to get out of the situation. Which is why we want you here. We want to keep you away from that. But we hope that you want to get away from that too. So forget about us. We can take care of ourselves.”

Natasha smiled a quiet smile, taking Clint and Tony’s hands, “He’s right. I’ve been on my own since I was ten. I know how to watch my own back. And I’ve been watching his,” she jutted her chin at Clint, “since I’ve known him. You aren’t alone anymore and you don’t have to force yourself to be.”

“But he’ll-“

“We aren’t scared of Howard Stark. If he wants a fight, we’ll bring the war.”

“For me though?”

“Without hesitation,” Natasha smiled.

Clint looked at Natasha before turning to Tony, “may we?” he asked with outstretched arms.

Tony nodded slightly, folding himself into Clint and Natasha’s embrace. They stayed like that for most of the movie, Tony intermittently drifting into a doze against their shoulders, hand twitching in his lap.

 

The credits were rolling, and the early sunlight was starting to reflect off the buildings around them. They roused slightly, knocking over the mostly empty popcorn bowl, uncooked kernels spilling onto the duvet.

“What do I do about Steve?”

“What do you mean?” Natasha asked, puzzled.

“I can’t be with him right now. I can’t date. My life right now, I need to- I need to try and- and get my life back together.”

“Then break up with him, he’ll understand.”

“But what if he…” Tony trailed off, far off gaze captured by his thoughts.

“Would you like us to be close by?” Natasha offered.

Tony nodded silently, moving to stand. He’d left his rucksack behind. Natasha considered that a success. Talked him out of running away again.

Tony took the empty cups, the bowls, tidied up the room and began washing the dishes. They could see the exhaustion clinging to him, the reticence at sleeping. But he needed to. So Natasha stood, pulling Clint up with her. She walked over to the kitchen, footfalls loud enough to make Tony aware she was approaching. Leaning around, she pulled a mug out of his soapy grasp.

“C’mon, bedtime.”

And like that Tony followed, moving to go to his own room.

“Nope,” Natasha called out, “you have nightmares every time you fall asleep.”

Tony frowned at her, perplexed, but stepping away from his bedroom door, “how’d you know?”

“Educated guess. You’ll sleep with us, at least for a bit until you get some sleep.”

“But you’re a couple,” Tony protested.

Clint grinned from his position, leaning against his bedroom door, “we discussed this when you first moved in. We’re fine. But are you?”

Tony fell silent, looking at them both. Waiting for the rug to be pulled, the other shoe to drop. They waited, open expressions. Eventually, he nodded reluctantly, brushing his hair back. “If you’re sure?”

“We are, now let’s sleep.” Clint took his hand carefully, pulling him into the bedroom, “where do you want to sleep? Middle, or sides?”

Tony blushed, turning a bright scarlet as he muttered inaudibly.

“Sorry Tony, we missed that,” Natasha said as she strode in.

“Middle.”

And Clint didn’t think Tony was able to turn a more vivid shade of red. But evidently he could. Clint pushed him down onto the bed, and Natasha lay down on his other side. With the sun starting to fight its way through their curtains, they fell asleep.

 

It was dark. There were no lights, no candles. Only his computer, casting its blue-white glow around the room. It was old. The whole place smelled musty, the air stagnant and stale. It was silent. Not a sound seemed to enter the room, and not one of his screams, or pleas, or even a single prayer left. Not a sound until a thudding. Heavy boots climbing up the creaking stairs. The sound of solid glass bumping the stone walls. The rattle of the attic locks and the growl of frustration from beyond the door.

“I know where you are boy. You can’t hide forever.”

He wanted the silence. He needed the silence back.

“I’ll find you. You know what happens when you hide.”

The door was shaking on its hinges. Dust fell from the frame. The locks were rusty, they’d give soon.

“You’re with those _friends_ of yours,” Howard snarled, “I’ll ruin them, just like they ruined you.”

He pushed himself back, wishing the shadows would swallow him.

“I’ll destroy them. Your little _friends_ will wish they were dead.”

The door burst open.

 

He scrambled away, away from the hands holding him down, away from something heavy dragging at his legs. Trying, trying to get away from the grasp that continued to hold him. He found a corner and pushed himself into it. Trying, trying to make himself smaller. A shaking hand covered his mouth, and his head bowed to protect his eyes. Something, something far away was screaming, a muffled and panicked sound.

 

“What do we do?”

“Don’t touch him,” Natasha grabbed hold of a reaching Clint, “We don’t know if that will make it worse.”

“Alright, then… how do we help him?”

She thought for a moment, glancing around the room for ideas.

“Okay, make coffee, and make it really strong. So strong that you wouldn’t dream of touching it.”

Clint left the room, and Natasha began moving things around the room. She drew the curtains, turned on a string of fairy lights wrapped around their headboard, and grabbed her throw from the floor. Kneeling down, she wrapped her throw around him, and began talking just loud enough to be heard over the screams.

“Hey Tony, you’re safe, you’re with me and Clint. There is no one else in the apartment. We won’t let anyone take you. And I’ll tell you something else… I don’t really look it, but I was trained to be a covert agent until I was… well I was trained for a while. So I’ve got some special skills that I’d love to put to use on your dad. I will protect you, because it isn’t fair that you’ve been put through this. So we will make sure you know you are valued, and that we like you, and that we love as much more than we thought we ever would a few months ago. So you need to know that nothing will happen to us, but we won’t let anything happen to you either.”

“Leave them alone,” came a soft croak, a voice wracked with anguish, “please leave them alone, I’ll come home, just leave them alone.”

Clint cleared his throat softly from the doorway.

“At least he’s speaking, that’s progress from the screaming,” he handed over the mug of coffee, before sitting down next to Nat.

She began wafting the mug under Tony’s nose, fanning the steam gently towards him.

“You know she’s right, Tones. We won’t let that old man bully you. My old man bullied me too. One summer I ran away with the circus. But I went back. And it didn’t get better. So I’m not letting you go back. I won’t keep you here if you don’t want to be here, but I won’t let you go back to him… I took what my dad gave me, and I can handle whatever your dad gives me.”

A voice croaked out from beneath the hand, “You shouldn’t have to.”

They pulled the blanket slowly away from where it had been pulled to cover Tony’s face. Glassy eyes blinked up at them.

“Well, neither should you. No one should suffer as you have,” Natasha said softly.

“He said it was my fault,” came the sotto voce reply.

“He lied.” Clint handed Tony the coffee that had been set aside.

Drinking deeply, Tony closed his eyes tightly.

“Want to talk about it? The nightmare?”

“No.”

“Want to talk about anything?”

Nodding, Tony curled up under the blanket, resting his head on Clint’s shoulder. Clint hummed softly, trying to think of a story.

“Okay, once upon a time, in a far off Kingdom-“

“I’m not a child,” he groused, though made no effort to move.

“We know,” Natasha agreed, “but I like this one.” She settled against Tony with a smile, looking up at Clint to continue.

“Once upon a time, a girl with golden hair was born to the King and Queen. But while in her infancy, she was stolen from them, but an evil witch. Now this witch kept the girl hidden, and gave her a name most suited for her purpose. She was called Amala and the witch made sure she lived up to it. Amala worked day and night for the witch, washing dishes and sweeping the floors and dusting the shelves. As Amala grew older she began creating things. Though things was not an apt description. She made art. She used her creation as a means to escape, for she was still locked away. But one evening, as dusk set upon the valley where she remained secluded, the witch announced she would be leaving for the night, returning at sun up the next day. Amala nodded in acknowledgement, before continuing with her chores. But with a swish of her cloak, the witch was gone,” Clint glanced at the pair, not at all surprised to find Tony asleep on his shoulder.

Natasha glanced at him when he fell quiet, and gestured for him to continue. “He’s asleep but I’m not,” she grinned.

“The witch had gone, and Amala, filled with curiosity, sneaked out. She ran through the night, her laughter catching on the wind. A group of ruffians, hidden in the woods heard and sought out the gleeful sound. Eventually they found her, high up among the branches of an ancient oak…” He continued the story until mid-morning, Natasha avidly listening to every word. Clint was happy that Tony slept through the whole story.

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1 of my "Inspired by" series.
> 
> Anyone want to take a guess what has inspired this one?
> 
> Also, I take requests if anyone wants to suggest?


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